Desire
by Witherwings01
Summary: What is the deepest and most desperate desire of Hermione's heart? Set six years after Voldemort's fall, Hermione learns the life she has fought so hard for is not quite everything she dreamt of. Will be H/Hr...eventually.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer **I own nothing of the Potterverse. My writing is purely for my own enjoyment._

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

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><p>A soft, percussive sound pulled Hermione from the trance like state she had entered an indeterminate period of time ago. The sound, three evenly spaced beats, repeated twice more before she finally became coherent enough to recognise their source.<p>

Someone was knocking at the door.

She blinked her eyes several times, rubbing the grit from her tear ducts with her thumb and middle finger, as she attempted to focus on her surroundings, recognising them a moment later as the plush private office her position as deputy head of Magical Law Enforcement afforded her on the second floor of the Ministry of Magic.

Outside, visible through the magical window that occupied almost the whole width of one wall of the large space, the distant wisps of cloud were tinged pink against the pale blue sky suggesting the sun was low on the horizon, but, because of the orientation of her view, she could not discern if it was sunrise or sunset.

She wished she could claim that this was the first time that her attentiveness at work had been anything less than the one hundred percent she had always always held herself to, but she knew that to be a lie. In truth, in recent weeks, she had become less and less able to resist the temptation that the magical artefact she had hidden in her office offered.

In fact, on more than one occasion she had stayed holed up in her office all night trying to decipher the mysteries of the strange device. So far without success.

Ron had assured her that he didn't mind her working late, he was, after all, used to being married to the one of the best and brightest in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and, as an auror himself, was no stranger to all nighters himself. But, as kind and considerate a husband as Ronald Weasley was, Hermione wasn't sure he would be quite so understanding if he were to ever find out what was really occupying so much of her time.

She had certainly not intentionally sought out the ancient device now stood before her, however, when she had stumbled across it a few months previously deep in the department of mysteries, whilst helping Harry and Ron on a case, she had magically shrunk it, pocketed it, and secretly brought it to her office.

What motivated her to perform an act, that, at best, could be described as theft, she could not say, nor in all honesty, had she sought an answer to that particular question. But, what had started as an exercise in pure intellectual curiosity, had quickly developed into an almost primal need to be in its presence. It had become almost as important to her as the air she breathed.

Objectively she knew that no one could have failed to notice her abrupt change in behaviour and routine in the last few months, either at the office or at home. In fact she was certain that Harry, Ron and Ginny were discussing her behind her back, judging by the way in which their hushed conversations would trail away whenever she entered a room. The brief snatches of whispered conversations that she had overheard told her that those closest to her believed she was suffering from anything ranging from overwork to mental illness.

But, although the logical part of her that remained knew that her family was merely concerned about her, and that there was at least a grain of truth to support their theory, that part of her mind had been pushed aside, leaving her withdrawn and brooding.

She was sitting crossed legged on the floor facing the artefact, and now that she was once more cognisant of her body, she realised the muscles in her back and legs were protesting loudly from being held in such a position for so long, despite being sat of the soft, luxurious, deep pile carpet that covered the floor of her office. So much so that she wondered why she hadn't become aware of the pain earlier.

A quick glance at the silver clock that had been a gift from Ron, which sat on her uncluttered desk, confirmed she had been in her office all night again.

She felt a wave of guilt co-mingled with frustration wash over her; guilt that stemmed from the fact that she had once again failed to go home to her husband, and frustration at the realisation that she was still absolutely no closer to understanding the riddle of the artefact.

The knock at her door sounded once more, although this time the person stood on the other side exerted noticeably more force, the booming knock echoing loudly around her sparsely furnished office.

"Mrs Weasley? Hermione?" called a concerned female voice from the other side of the heavy oak door. "Are you alright in there?"

Hermione didn't answer straight away as the realisation settled on her that she was most definitely not alright. In fact, she didn't know if she could ever be alright again; not after what she had seen.

"I'm coming in_," _called the voice she now recognised as that of her assistant, Paige Kogan._ "Alohomora_!"

Although knowing full well that her assistants charm would fail in opening the door (a futile rattling of the door handle a few moments later confirming Hermione's faith in the wards she had erected around her private sanctum), Hermione was equally well aware that the efficient young witch, fresh out of Hogwarts, would now doubtless call for assistance. Perhaps even from Ron or Harry. And whilst officially she, as a senior member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was more senior than either Harry or Ron, and could theoretically order them to leave her in peace, she knew that would only serve to add fuel to the fire of their concerns for her.

"Just a minute Paige," called Hermione, deliberately using the young woman's first name, and carefully modulating her voice in an attempt to disguise the rasp of disuse.

The rattling of the door handle ceased immediately. "Mrs Weasley?"

"Just a minute," repeated Hermione as she rose from the floor stiffly, wincing slightly as her muscles protested fiercely at the action.

Moving first to the full length mirror stood at the opposite end of the room Hermione straightened her attire in the hope of masking the fact that she had spent the better part of twenty four hours in the same clothes. She also attempted to work the kinks out of her spine by pressing her thumbs deeply into the tissue of her lower back, but gave it up as bad job, before she moved gingerly round to her desk where she took a seat, and removed a large, partially annotated file she had been working on a couple of months beforehand.

Finally, before dropping the wards to her office, she cast a quick disillusionment charm towards the device that had held her attention so rapt all night long to hide it from her visitor.

"Come," she called finally after taking a quick gulp of stale water from the glass tumbler on her desk to sooth her dry throat.

The door cracked open, flooding the room with light from the bright corridor beyond. Hermione resisted the urge to shield her eyes against the glare and squinted towards the rectangle of light where the silhouette of a tall, graceful woman with long, shoulder length hair stood uncertainly, fiddling with the hem of the cardigan she wore in a manner Hermione had come to associate with the moments that her assistant had to deliver bad news to her.

"Miss Kogan," said Hermione, forcing her lips into a smile an action that felt alien and unaccustomed to her muscles, as if she hadn't used them in months. "You're in early," she added nodding her head towards her desk clock with showed the time as just after seven o'clock in the morning.

"Not as early as you obviously," replied the young woman as she pushed the door closed. "Are you alright?"

No longer backlit, Hermione could see the concern in the younger woman's blue eyes. Eyes, she also noted, which had dark circles underneath them that she had not noticed before. Kogan's hair also appeared lank and unkempt, very unlike her usual well turned out appearance, although in truth, Hermione realised, she could not recall with clarity the last time she had been in close enough proximity to her assistant recently to have noticed such changed, having taken to flooing instructions to her over the past few weeks.

_How long has she been covering for me,_ the logical part of Hermione's mind wondered as she understood the reasons behind the teenagers slightly haggered appearance. The responsibilities of the day-to-day running of the entire magical law enforcement office were too much for one so young to cope with alone.

"Actually, I never left," said Hermione in reply, the logical part of her once more being shoved aside. "This amendment won't write itself," she added gesturing towards the thick file in front of her, hating how easily the lie rolled off her tongue, causing her to wonder, not for the first time, if she was addicted to the ancient artefact hidden less than a stride from her desk.

"Oh," said Paige, in a tone of voice that suggested she was far from convinced, but she did not press any further.

Hermione had rarely welcomed, or utilized, the fame and status that followed her everywhere she went, but this one was one of the occasions when she was very glad of that reverence still afforded to any member of the golden trio. She often wondered if she would have been anywhere near as successful with her reforms to magical law if she had not had her famous name to help make the right connections. Would she have been able to eradicate those laws that were biased in favour of 'pure-blood' families, or improve the rights of underprivileged non-humans if she had not been 'the' Hermione Granger.

Pushing those old questions aside, Hermione returned her attention to her assistant who was speaking again.

"Well, can I get you something to eat, or drink?"

Hermione opened her mouth to decline when her stomach growled loudly as if in response.

_Men have wasted away in front of it, not knowing if what they saw was real, or even possible_.

Although she had only ever heard the statement third hand, the words that Albus Dumbledore had spoken to her best friend, Harry, nearly fifteen years before floated across her consciousness.

Harry hadn't spoken often of his experiences with the very same artefact now in her possession, but the little she did know led her to believe that Harry had found himself as drawn to it as she did now.

"That would be lovely, Paige," she said aloud, trying to squelch the discomforting sensation those memories had created in her. "But can you floo it to me? I don't want to be disturbed today."

Paige nodded her understanding and although Hermione could tell that the youngster was desperate to say something further by the way in which she twisted her fingers around the weave of her cardigan, instead she promptly swept from her office, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts again.

I_ can't be addicted,_ she thought furiously as the door closed behind Paige.

But even before the thought was half formed in her mind she registered her feet hand carried her back to the other side of her desk where she was once more settling herself onto the floor. With a distracted wave of her wand she simultaneously re-established her wards and countered the charm which hid the object of her desire: The Mirror of Erised.

Her eyes traced the outline of it's ornate wooden frame in something of personal ritual she had subconsciously developed, her mind translating the ancient goblin text, presumably the builders of the magical mirror, inscribed around the perfect glass of the mirror once more;

_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_

_I show not your face but your heart's desire._

With that, Hermione focused her attention on the image reflected back at her and her chocolate eyes locked once more with those a deep emerald.

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><p><strong>Author Musings<strong>

_Well it has taken a VERY long time. But I finally have inspiration to take this story further. You can all thank Lorien829 for offering me the most simple of solutions to my problems with the tale I wanted to write. _

_I've tweaked the opening chapter to fit in with the new vision for the story, and I'm hard at work on Chapter two. _

__This little story was inspired by my something my five year old son said whilst watching the philosophers stone the other day. He wondered what Hermione would see in the mirror, and Desire was born. I know JKR has said what Hermione would have seen already (Voldermort defeated) but as dear Tom has been dead several years now it seems her deepest desire would have changed by now.__


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer** – See chapter one peeps. Potter ownership hasn't change since then. _

_**A/N **– My thanks as always to Katesmom2. Despite a household of kids bent on destroying her house, she somehow managed to find time to correct my mistakes. Also, if you read chapter one, way back when, you may wish to re-read it – I have tweaked a few things to fit in with the new vision of the tale._

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

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><p>Harry Potter awoke abruptly to a cacophonous sound, which, at first, he mistook for thunder. Pulling the quilt tight up to his chin to ward against the chill night air, Harry rolled over and noted with relief that his heavily pregnant wife, Ginny, had not been disturbed by the din.<p>

Sleep quickly beckoned him back into its warm embrace and he felt his eyelids grow heavier as the waking world began to slip away once more.

Albeit only for a moment.

Mere seconds later the same noise reverberated through the walls of Grimmauld Place; this time, Harry recognised the sound. Someone was knocking ... no ... someone was _pounding_ on their front door, the unmistakable shouts of an unidentifiable male voice commingling with the sound of the man's fists pummelling against it.

"What in the world?" muttered Harry angrily, snatching up his wand from the nightstand and shrugging his shoulders into a dressing-gown as he pushed himself out of bed. Whoever it was was going to get a piece of Harry Potter's mind.

Ginny gave out a low moan as the noise obviously began to intrude into her slumber, but just as Harry feared she might wake, the racket mercifully subsided - at least for a moment.

Moving with well practised ease, Harry quickly crossed the space between their bed and the door, slipping out onto the landing without the need for a light source. Pulling the chords of his gown tight, he started down the first flight of stairs, remembering to shoot off a quick silencing charm behind him in case their unexpected visitor renewed his efforts to wake the dead.

He had padded down two of the three flights when the frantic hammering resumed and Harry thanked every deity he could name that they had finally managed to wrestle the portrait of Mrs Black, Sirius' deranged mother, from the wall – he could only imagine the volume of her caterwauling had the portrait still been a feature on the ground floor landing.

Whether it was because he was now closer to its source, or merely that he was now more alert, Harry could make out some of the individual words their unwelcome late night caller was shouting - his own name amongst them.

_Something's wrong, _he realised, and, quickening his pace, Harry took the last flight of stairs two-at-a-time, hardly breaking stride as he magically unlocked the front door before pulling it wide.

"Harry! Oh thank Merlin."

Harry's brow knit together. "Ron?" There before him, backlit by the dull orange glow of the streetlights which illuminated the deserted road beyond number twelves front steps, stood his best friend, and brother-in-law, Ron Weasley - his unmistakable head of flaming red hair sticking up at all angles, in a manner far more reminiscent of Harry's own. He was wearing what appeared to be a mismatch of pyjama bottoms, an old, slightly too small maroon sweater, and his blue Auror cloak.

Harry was unable to prevent a sigh of exasperation from slipping past his lips as he took in the state of his oldest friend, concern quickly giving way to annoyance – this was not the first time that Ronald Weasley had shown up at his front door in a state of disarray, usually following a heated row with his wife, his other best friend, Hermione Granger-Weasley.

_The more things change, the more they stay the same._ Nothing, Harry thought ruefully, could be truer of the relationship between his two best friends. He loved them both dearly, but, whilst the wizarding world had changed a great deal since Voldemort's defeat six years ago, their relationship had maintained its often tempestuous nature. Resultantly, Harry often found himself stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place as he attempted to smooth things over between them.

It wasn't always easy; Ron could always be relied upon to say something tactless at exactly the wrong moment, which, when coupled with Hermione's near legendary temper, meant Harry often felt like keeping their relationship on an even keel was a full time job.

Tamping down on his desire to throttle Ron for disturbing one of the last full nights of sleep Ginny and he might get before they became parents – the baby, a boy, was due any day now - Harry stepped aside in an obvious gesture of invitation.

Without offering anything remotely close to an apology or even an explanation, Ron moved straight past Harry, covering the narrow corridor to the kitchen in a handful of long strides. Understanding that he was to follow, Harry sealed the door, and followed his friend into the kitchen.

"Do you want to tell me what was so important it couldn't wait till morning?" Harry's tone was clipped as he entered the narrow room, his eyes narrowing to slits as the lanterns flared into life in response to his magic.

"Floo's broke," mumbled Ron by way of explanation.

Harry nodded as he recalled that he had deactivated the floo last week when Molly Weasley's constant calls to 'check' on Ginny had grown tiresome.

Still, it didn't explain what was so urgent that it couldn't wait till morning. He retrieved his spare pair of glasses from the counter, and, as the room swam into focus, Harry saw that Ron looked dreadful. His complexion was pale, making his freckles and fiery hair even more prominent and he was pacing back and forth across the small room in short, hurried strides.

Harry felt a pang of guilt. This was obviously no ordinary fight – he had never seen Ron in quite such a state before, even during the war. "Ron," he said, stepping in front of his best friend's next stride and taking him by the shoulders. "What's going on? What's wrong?" he added, trying and failing to catch Ron's troubled blue eyes.

"It's Hermione, Harry. She's gone, and I don't know where to find her. I've looked everywhere but..."

"Whoa, whoa," interrupted Harry. Ron had spoken so fast that he had only been able to decipher a single word. "What was that about Hermione? Has something happened to her?" A chill of dread penetrated him to the core as he voiced the question.

The sound of his wife's name appeared to anchor Ron, and he dropped himself into one of the chairs set around the long wooden table, his fingertips massaging his temples before scrubbing down the length of his stubble-coated face.

"She's gone, Harry," he said, his tone no longer one of panic, but of defeat. "She's left me."

For a moment, Harry could find no words to respond, his mouth opening and closing stupidly as his mind fought to assimilate his best friend's statement. "Did you – did you have a fight or something?" he managed to ask at length, sinking into a second chair directly opposite Ron.

Ron gave his head a despondent shake from left to right. "No, no, nothing like that. She didn't come home again tonight, so I went to the office to see if I could help – you know how overworked she's been lately … "

_Overworked._ Harry inclined his head in agreement, but knew that the word did little to convey the worry he, Ron, and Ginny felt regarding the recent changes in Hermione's behaviour.

Over the last two months or so, no one close to Hermione could have failed to note the change in her. Sure, on the surface she was still the same old Hermione, she talked passionately about the issues of the day, she laughed, she joked, but it was almost as if she was wearing a mask of the person she used to be - and even that mask had started to slip since her birthday last week.

It was as if they had all convinced themselves of the lie of her overwork to avoid confronting the possibility of something far more worrisome accounting for her distant moods, and frequent absences of late.

" … but when I got to the ministry, her assistant told me Hermione hadn't been in the office all day."

"That's hardly conclusive proof she's left you, mate," offered Harry in a tone which was attempting to be comforting, but which instead came out as concerned. Hermione Granger-Weasley had never missed so much of day of work in over five years.

"She left me this." Ron pulled a crumpled scrap of parchment from the inside pocket of his robe and shoved it across the table towards Harry.

Retrieving the piece of paper, Harry smoothed it out and read the two words scribed there;

_I'm sorry._

Harry's eyes widened in alarm. "Ron, listen to me, this is important, have you checked Umbrella Cottage?" he asked, referring to the affectionate name the couple had bestowed upon their small home.

"Yeah, of course," replied Ron. "I've looked everywhere – The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, her parents house … "

"No, no,' interrupted Harry, impatience colouring his words. "Did you check her closets? I need to know what she's taken with her."

Ron's brow furrowed as he retrieved the relevant memory. "Nothing," he said after a beat. "All her clothes, her luggage – hell, even that magic bag of hers was still in the bottom draw."

Harry was on his feet. "We've got to find her," he proclaimed, summoning a pair of trousers and a shirt with his wand. "Something's not right," he added pulling his legs roughly into the grey jogging bottoms. "How often have you known Hermione do something so impulsive? The Hermione I know wouldn't just leave without so much as a goodbye - she'd tell _someone. _And she sure as hell wouldn't do it without packing at least a change of clothes … "

If it were possible, Ron's face paled further. "You don't think she would … "

"I don't know," snapped Harry as he pulled a plain white t-shirt over his his head, his dressing gown now lying discarded in a heap on the floor. The possibility that Hermione could have reached such a low ebb that she could actually do something to harm herself was something he did not wish to allow his mind to dwell on – he couldn't permit the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him for failing to recognise that things had gotten so bad to prevent him from bringing six years worth of Auror training to bear to find her.

"But I don't even know where to start," admitted Ron. "She could be anywhere. And she's bound to be a good deal better at concealing her tracks than we she was whilst we were hunting Horcruxes – this is Hermione we're talking about, not some worthless Death Eater in hiding."

_The Horcrux hunt! _"Ron, you're a genius!" Harry exclaimed as his mind latched onto the memory of that dark time, and thus provided him with a possible solution. During their almost year long evasion of Voldemort's forces, Ron had deserted them (albeit under the influence of the darkest of magical objects). More importantly, he had been able to find his way back to them. "You've still got Dumbledore's deluminator, right?"

Understanding bloomed on Ron's features. "Yeah, it's back at the house."

"What are we waiting for then?"

Less than thirty seconds later, having hurriedly scribbled a note to Ginny, Harry joined Ron in the rear garden where the two dissaparated.

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><p>When the crush of apparation released him, Harry found himself standing next to Ron in the front porch of the small cottage Hermione had fallen in love with. He lit his wand, it's luminous glow illuminating the whitewashed walls, the familiar smell of the nearby sea filled his lungs.<p>

Harry barely glanced at the tastefully decorated front room as Ron led him through the front door and into the small bedroom located at the rear of the single storey house, the calm grey sea visible through its small window, but too far away to hear the wash of the waves on the stoney shoreline.

Ron went directly to a small dresser set on the opposite wall where he crouched down the access the lowest draw, whilst Harry fought a rising wave of dread as his confirmed, with his own eyes, that all of Hermione's processions, save her wand, seemed to be accounted for.

"Got it!" declared Ron triumphantly a moment later, a thin cylindrical object clutched in his palm.

"How does it work?" Harry wanted to know.

"I dunno really," Ron said with an apologetic shrug." The first time I used it, I heard Hermione saying my name, but when I couldn't find you where the orb had taken me, I knew you must have moved on. After that, I just sort of pictured her face and clicked the button."

"Do it," commanded Harry.

Ron closed his eyes and complied, a small, glowing ball of light emerging from the device a moment later.

Harry nodded his approval, and, without needing to speak, both grasped the others hand, and simultaneously stepped forward into the light, disappearing without a sound.

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><p>The calendar that adorned the the wall of the shabby bedsit suggested that today was the 31st of December, 1994, and whilst the remnant of her ordered mind knew that to be false, it could just as easily have been correct, Hermione having long since given up on keeping track of the passage of time.<p>

The wallpaper was peeling and covered with mildew, whilst the lightening sky outside, which heralded the new dawn, could not been seen through the layers of grime and filth that coated the room's solitary window. Not that Hermione would have been aware of the beauty of the sunrise even if the glass had been spotless.

She sat cross-legged on the sagging mattress, the only piece of furniture in the dingy room, staring at the mirror of Erised which she had placed at the foot of the metal bed's frame. She had long ago given up trying to figure out the mysteries of the magical device and now merely gazed with unseeing eyes at the image projected back at her.

How long ago she had last eaten, or slept, she did not know. In truth, she did not care, her universe having shrunk to the world on other side of the glass. A world where she would be truly happy. A world where she would have everything her heart had ever desired. A world that taunted her by it's impossibility.

_Water_. Through the haze of her longing, a single word pushed to the surface of her consciousness, and she traced her fingers along her parched lips. Mechanically, she pushed her palms into the lumpy mattress, with the vague intention of retrieving a glass of water when she froze, her gaze now riveted, not to the glass, but to the mirror's ornate frame.

_I'm hallucinating,_ she decided as she watched in fascination as the letters of the inscription, set across the top of the frame, shifted position and altered until they read;

Sruo ye bnac erised ou ytah tlla

Hermione stared at the new words. In another life, another time, she felt sure that she knew how to make sense of them, but now she could no more translate them than she could give up the object on which they were written.

Compelled to take a closer look, Hermione straightened her limbs and lent forward so that she was on all fours, her palms on the edge of the metal bed frame, green eyes gazing back at her as she moved her nose within a few inches of the glass.

It was then that she noted a peculiar sensation, akin to being sucked towards the vacuum created by the passage of a fast moving train, exerting itself on her body. She tried to pull away, but the harder she tried, the greater the pressure pulling her forward became. The muscles in her arms, weakened by months of increasing inactivity, shook violently as she tried to force her body away from the mirror.

She became aware of a blue glow filling the room a moment before her strength gave out, a muffled squeak of panic slipping past her lips as she was pulled towards … no … into the mirror.

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><p>Harry and Ron appeared silently in a narrow, deserted corridor, the only illumination coming from a flickering oil lamp half way along the hall, and the several times more luminous light of the blue sphere which had emerged from Ron's chest as soon as their feet hit the ground.<p>

The carpet was threadbare, several doorways stood shut along each side of the hallway, the faded numbers affixed to each of the black doors confirming that this was some sort of motel - a low end one at that.

Almost before Harry had processed all of this, the orb, which had led them there, began to move, promptly passing straight through the solid wood of door number seventeen, plunging the corridor into near total darkness.

"Lumos," muttered Harry, his wand light falling upon Ron's ashen features.

"On three?"

Harry nodded, and, on Ron's final count, directed his wand towards the lock, and Ron shouldered the door aside as his silent unlocking charm unlatched the door with an audible click.

Whatever visions his inner eye had tormented Harry with since he had learnt of Hermione's disappearance, not one had come close to the reality of the situation he found on the other side of the door. Hermione was knelt on the edge of a shabby bed, her nose pressed close to the frame of an object he recognised immediately – the mirror of Erised. Her arms were straining against some unseen force, a squeak of fright the only sound as her slight frame appeared to flicker and then completely disappear, the blue orb flickering out of existence at precisely the same moment.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Author Musings<strong>_

_To anyone that had this story on alert from way back when, I apologise for the unforgivable delay in taking this story further, but, for a long time I didn't think I would be taking it past a one-shot. You can all thank Lorien829 who gave me the, oh so simple solutio that allowed me to tell the story I had in my mind._

_As for what happened to Hermione, you'll just have to wait and see, but I can give you a clue in the translation of the new words that appeared on the mirror. *All that you desire can be yours.*_

_Till next time peeps. _

_Wings._


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N's** - My thanks to Katesmom for the Beta check. Any errors that remain are hers ... sorry, sorry - mine ;) _

_**Disclaimer** - Like anyone would believe me if I claimed to own the Potterverse. _

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

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><p>The world spun dizzyingly around Hermione; a myriad of images assaulting her senses quicker than she could keep track of. Countless visions of people, places and events, some unfamiliar, others more so, assailed her mind, and she fought to remain conscious against the almost overwhelming flow of sensory information.<p>

She wanted to cry out, to close her eyes against the onslaught, but found that she could do neither as she no longer appeared to posses a physical body of any sort. How she could continue to be self aware, without any sort of physical form to support her consciousness, was not a question she could fathom at that moment, as the torrent of mental imagery continued to bombard her awareness.

After a time she became aware that she was actually watching herself - infinite versions of herself, in fact, and it was like nothing she had ever experienced before, almost indescribable, even in retrospect. Far more that just witnessing these innumerable scenes playing out before her, she realised that she was actually experiencing every single one at once. Incredibly, she was cognisant of every sensation simultaneously, from a warm, late-summer breeze blowing through her hair in one, to the acrid stench of some unknown battlefield in another. It was as if she was everywhere, yet nowhere at once.

Fascinated, she observed the countless facsimiles of herself and noted with interest that, whilst some knelt before their own versions of the Mirror of Erised, a considerably higher proportion did not. Amongst them were Healers, Aurors, Professors, Public officials, Wives, Mothers, and so many more that Hermione felt sure she could never name them all in an entire lifetime. Nevertheless, she could see all of their lives as clearly as if they were her own. The possibilities were literally infinite - unimaginable. Each snap shot of a life branching out for all eternity before her, each one leading to a different world, a different reality, a different _universe_.

Had she been more than a free floating consciousness, Hermione would have massaged her eyelids - quantum mechanics had always given her a headache. She had read a couple of journal papers, both muggle and magical alike, which postulated the existence of parallel universes, but had only understood the merest fraction of the theory involved. She recalled that one such theory suggested that, in the case of the famous Schrödinger's cat paradox, the cat continued to be both alive _and_ dead, even after the box had been opened, the alternate state continuing to exist in an different reality, albeit one that was forever disconnected from the first.

_Could the mirror somehow tap into those de-coherent universes?_ she wondered. _Was it, in fact, a window of sorts on a world where the subject's desires had already come to pass?_ It certainly seemed to fit with her tenuous understanding of the multiple worlds theory. If all the possible pasts, presents and futures were real, all occurring simultaneously, it would go a long way towards explaining what she was witnessing.

Both thrilled and a little overwhelmed by the possibility, Hermione noted that, of the countless worlds open to her mind, one of them had grown larger in her thoughts. Whilst back home, in the physical world, Hermione knew her keen mind would have found the term rather imprecise, but here, where neither she, or the environment in which she existed appeared to have any form at all, it was the best description she could offer. It was as if some unseen hand had propelled a muggle television screen to within an inch of her face, pushing all of the other realities to the far fringes of her mind.

She had no tangible evidence of course, but this, she was certain, was her own reality, and she watched in wonder as her last few moments in the physical world replayed before her. _Beware the Jabberwock_, she thought idly, recalling a line from a favourite childhood book, as the scene reached its conclusion – her slender frame disappearing into the looking-glass, just as Ron and Harry, half charged, half fell through the door to her shabby lodgings, their hardened miens morphing into a look of palpable shock as they saw her vanish before their eyes.

Guilt gnawed at her insides, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to return to them. But before she could so much as consider how to achieve that feat, the vision of her world was repelled as if magnetically opposed to her.

The force of her expulsion sent her spinning through the inter-dimensional space once more, the multiple realities swirling around her far faster than before. This was not the pleasant dizziness she associated with childhood games, but rather the sort that she had experienced only once before, aboard the back of a broomstick carrying out a tightly banked roll in an effort to escape the inferno of fiendfyre in the room of requirement at the end of the war. Then as now, darkness encroached around the edges of her awareness, and Hermione knew that this time the effort required to maintain consciousness would prove too taxing by far.

Through greying vision, Hermione watched as one by one, all of the other realities went dark, forevermore out of reach, until only one remained. She caught only a glimpse of the world she now intuitively realised she was bound for; her last thought before she surrendered to the nothingness now pressing in from all sides, another quote from the same novel.

" ... and a most curious country it was."

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><p>When awareness finally returned, it was very unlike her usual experience of awakening. Normally, in the moments immediately after her body shrugged off sleep, her senses would return to her one-by-one – her sense of hearing inevitably first. But this time, it was as if someone had thrown a switch, all of her faculties instantaneously available to her, albeit distantly, as if she were experiencing everything from a different room.<p>

She could feel the gritty surface of the ground she lay sprawled on through the tips of her fingers, and the skin of her right cheek, smell the distinctive aroma of freshly brewed coffee - the slightly acid aftertaste of which she could detect on her tongue, but it still took her several long moments to recognise the distant and muffled sounds filtering into her mind as speech. Several unfamiliar, but obviously concerned voices, reaching out to her through the only slightly dissipating fog of unconsciousness.

Her mind felt sluggish – dimwitted – and she found that she had had to concentrate very hard on the words to make sense of them, as if she were listening to a conversation in a barely understood foreign tongue.

"Miss? Miss! Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

Hermione forced her eyes to open, but she found she was unable to focus on the speaker, her only awareness before her lids slid shut once more, that of a bright, natural light informing her that she was indeed outside.

"What happened?" continued the first speaker.

"She just passed out," replied another.

"Should we contact St Mungo's?" added a third.

Even in her addled state, Hermione thought that a good suggestion. A knot on her forehead – presumably where she had struck the pavement – throbbed painfully and her the rest of her body felt leaden and unresponsive. Perhaps more worryingly, none of her mental disorientation seemed to be lifting, leaving her unable to say who these people were, where she was, or how she come to be there.

A shadow passed over her, and suddenly Hermione felt very vulnerable, a wave of panic threatening to rise up within her. Logically, she knew these people were trying to help her - she could infer that much from their tones alone - but, even more than a decade on from her run in with a Basilisk which had left her paralysed, little more than a stone statue, Hermione still carried with her a very real fear of being trapped inside her own body once more - a fear she was now being forced to relive.

She had confided her true experiences of that time to only a select few, for whereas most people incorrectly assumed that a petrified person was no more aware of their surroundings that the stone that their hardened postures reflected, those she had told knew that she had been conscious and fully aware the whole time, unable to move, communicate, or even acknowledge the presence of those around her.

It was then that Hermione heard a new speaker call out above the myriad of others. In her disorientated state she could not place the new arrival immediately, but, for reasons that she was certain went far deeper than the simple fact that they had addressed her by name, Hermione felt a sense of unwavering trust in them.

A moment later the unmistakable sounds of hurried footsteps reached Hermione's ears, her other senses supplying the imagery her eyes could not as she pictured the newcomer breaking into a run at the sight of her prone form.

A second shadow passed over her face, but this time she felt no fear, and instead stirred groggily in response to the new arrival dropping to the ground next to her.

"Hermione? Hermione!" One hand gently rocked her shoulder, whilst another lifted her head and neck a few inches from the ground. "Can you hear me?"

Hermione parted her lips, but she could only manage a soft, unintelligible rasp by way of reply.

Her Samaritan immediately took charge:

"We need to get her to the hospital. Floo call St Mungo's for me ... and can someone get me a damp towel? She's burning up."

Sounds of assent reached Hermione's ears, but she barely heard them, consumed as she was, listening to the soft words of reassurance being whispered into her ear by her Samaritan as her head was gently lowered onto their lap, a blissfully cool rag pressed to her forehead a moment later.

"The Healers are on their way," confirmed a different voice - presumably the person who had brought the cold compress judging by their proximity.

"Hear that, Hermione? The Healers are on their way. They'll take care of you," crooned the Samaritan. "Just hang on."

Knowing it would likely drain her of what little strength she seemed to posses, Hermione desperately wanted ... no, _needed_, to confirm the identity of the person who was stroking her head of wild curls soothingly. Slowly, and by sheer force of will, Hermione's eyes slid open, and she forced them to focus of the face of her Samaritan directly above her.

With the sun behind them, their face was largely shrouded in shadow, masking their identity, a halo of yellow sun light, almost blinding in its intensity, surrounding their unruly hair. However, despite the backlighting, one feature did stand out quite prominently - a pair of striking green eyes.

A Mona Lisa smiled pulled at the corners of her mouth, but, exhausted from the effort, Hermione allowed her eyes to close. She could still hear the voices all around her, but, despite the commotion caused by the loud cracks that surely signified the arrival of the medical team, they grew more distant with every passing second, as if she were descending into a deep well, until finally, she grew oblivious to their presence all together, and drifted off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that she was with someone who loved her unconditionally.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Author Musings<strong> - Just a very short chapter here guys. It was going to have a third scene, but my Beta agreed that this felt like the end of a chapter (so you can blame her for the cliffy *ducks Katesmom's wrath*). The third scene will now make up the first part of the next chapter._

_Oh, and a nod to Lewis Carroll's, Through the Looking-Glass for the lines Hermione quoted. _

_Till next time peeps,_

_Wings._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - **_Hello everyone. Just a quick note to say this chapter is unchecked. Have no fear though, Katesmom will return to save you from the worst of my errors for Ch.5 and beyond._

**Disclaimer** -_ I guess in an alternative reality I could have created Potter. But not in this one!_

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

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><p><em>A rattling trolley with a squeaky wheel.<em>

_The occasional bark of an order which sent footsteps hurrying away in all directions._

_A tray of chinking glass vials._

_The murmur of distant conversations in another room._

Were it not for these unusual, yet easily recognisable sounds filtering into her mind in the moments immediately after awakening, Hermione may well have simply rolled over and returned to her dream - one she was certain had been very interesting (despite the details proving somewhat elusive in her semi-conscious state). As it was, the aberrant noises proved far too intrusive and full awareness returned a moment later, her ever curious mind already full of questions.

_Where am I?_ she wondered silently as she strained her ears for more clues to her whereabouts.

_A Hospital,_ the analytical part of her mind offered a heartbeat later, having already considered the evidence at hand and theorized a likely location.

_Logical, _she accepted_. But why, and how?_

Far from being panicked by her unexpected situation, Hermione continued to feign sleep, forcing her lungs to draw soft, unhurried breaths, as she attempted to piece together the moments leading up to her apparent hospitalisation. She had been duelling with some unknown Death Eater ... No, readying her children for school ... Or had she been strolling by a river, hand in hand with Viktor Krum?

Frustrated by her inability to differentiate between what were obviously remnants of her dreams and reality, Hermione opened her eyes and offered her silent thanks to whomever had thought to keep the lighting levels low._ Definitely a hospital,_ she thought as she took in the sterile white walls, the immaculate, crisp bedding, and the smell of disinfectant which were staples of every hospital she had ever visited - magical and muggle alike.

The room was unadorned by personal possessions or family photographs, suggesting she was not a long term resident, but no matter how hard she tried, Hermione could not recall anything that might explain why she had awoken there. She needed answers, but not wishing to aggravate any injuries that she might have sustained to land her there, Hermione carried out a quick assessment of her physical condition by surreptitiously moving and flexing each of her limbs before trying to move. Mercifully she found none, but before she could so much as push the bedding aside to go and find someone in authority, a new voice filled the room.

"You're awake? Thank Merlin. You gave us quite a scare, Hermione."

Startled by the unexpected and unfamiliar voice, Hermione spun her head around to locate the speaker, her gaze coming to rest on a young woman seated on the other side of the room on a standard issue, plastic hospital chair. _Who are you?_ The words formed on Hermione's lips instantaneously, but were rendered mute almost as quickly, as she realised she already knew the identity of her guest as she noted the young woman's vivid green eyes.

Hermione gasped. Both from the impossibility of what she was seeing, and, as the memories of how she came to find herself in this place returned in a torrent. These, she was certain, were the same eyes that had gazed back at her from the mirror for months. But it was impossible, surely ... she had been dead for years.

"_Rosaline?_" she ventured uncertainly.

A lopsided smile - one that was born of commingled relief and slight annoyance - creased the other woman's features. "Yeah," she said, pushing up from the chair and moving to perch on Hermione's bedside, ensnaring one of Hermione's hands in her own. "But its been a long time since I let anyone call me that ... It's Rosie, remember?"

Hermione tried to respond, but found she had no words to do so, her mouth hanging slightly open as she drank in the sight of the one thing her heart had most desired - her sister, alive and well.

In her world, Rosaline had been just a few months old when she had been taken from them - Cot death, she learnt many years later - and tears prickled at Hermione's eyes as she recalled the sight of her tiny coffin being carried into the church for the funeral. She had only been two years old at the time herself, but that memory had haunted Hermione almost every day since.

For a long time, the only outward indication that Rosaline had ever existed, was that of a small picture on the mantlepiece, so traumatic had her parents found the ordeal that they could barely bring themselves to even speak of their youngest daughter. But the often lonely Hermione, yearned for a sibling - someone who understood her - and would often catch herself staring at the picture of the baby with the dazzling green eyes when she thought no one else was watching her.

With surprising speed for one who had been insensate mere moments ago, Hermione scrambled to her knees and pulled Rosaline into a fierce embrace, tears streaming down her cheeks in an outpouring of joy.

Briefly stunned, Rosaline quickly recovered and returned the embrace. "Hey, hey. It's alright, you're okay now," she whispered through the mass of Hermione's curls as her sister clung to her as if her life depended on it.

After what seemed like far too short a time, but had probably been at least two minutes, Rosaline pulled back. "I promised the healers I would tell them when you woke up," she said, shifting from the bed and moving around to the door. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Hermione nodded her assent, and lowered herself back onto the soft pillows, gently wiping away her tears, as her sister closed the door behind her. _My sister?_ She still couldn't believe it. When she had first discovered the mirror, and the image projected within, she had attempted to study it, discover if what she saw was possible, or even real, but incrementally, and over many months, the mirror had exerted its thrall over her, rendering her usually inquisitive and logical mind impotent. However the mirror, it seemed, did not require its subject to understand the complex mechanisms involved, merely to give themselves fully to the world in which their heart's desire had come to pass.

_Perhaps Dumbledore meant it literally?_ she mused. Did someone have to 'waste away' in front of the mirror - reject the world they inhabited completely - before the mirror could perform it's true function and transport and individual to another world? _How many others have been successful in unlocking the secrets of Erised? _she wondered briefly, before banishing the thought as she realised that in truth she understood none of the mirrors secrets. _How had it known to bring her here? Was the transfer permanent? What had happened to the Hermione of this reality? Had they been amalgamated into a single entity, or had she simply been destroyed?_

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose - it was all too much to assimilate - and so was very grateful when she was offered the distraction of the door swinging open once more to admit her sister and a portly mediwizard she did not know. He had a ruddy complexion, a head of thinning grey hair, and wore the familiar lime-green uniform of a healer. "Ah, Miss - " He faltered and consulted his notes. " - Granger."

Hermione felt her brow arch. Whilst it was true that, owing to the sheer number of Weasley's working at the ministry post-war, she was often addressed by her maiden name at work, Hermione couldn't deny that she found it quite odd that her medical records could be quite so out of date. Recognising that the Healer, who had introduced himself as Healer Weir, was still speaking, she filed the inaccuracy away to be corrected later.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you" Hermione answered, sitting up a little straighter in bed as the healer began to run his wand back and forth over her body in what was obviously some sort of diagnostic test. "Although I must admit to being a bit disorientated for a moment after I woke up."

"To be expected, to be expected," muttered Weir as he consulted a thin strip of paper issuing from his wand tip. The script was tiny, but by the manner in which he patted down the pockets of his robe before pulling the piece of parchment as far away from his eyes as was possible, Hermione deduced he was long sighted.

His expression was unreadable, and, uncertain how, if at all, an inter-dimensional traveller would register in a medical scan, Hermione fixed the healer with a look that very clearly enquired to her condition without having to speak aloud.

"Oh ... Yes, yes of course," he said, obviously understanding Hermione's unspoken question. "You appear to be in perfect health, Miss ... er ... "

Hermione couldn't prevent the corners of her lips pulling into a smile as the mediwizard's words trailed away to nothing - Healer Weir was clearly very forgetful, albeit in an endearing, favourite uncle sort of way.

"So why did she faint?" interrupted Rosaline, preventing Hermione from supplying her real surname.

"Episodes of syncope can be brought on by any number of factors," replied Weir, smoothly switching his attention towards the re-seated Rosaline. "Something as simple a low blood pressure, or insufficient intake of fluids can bring on a loss of consciousness." He pursed his lips and turned to face Hermione once more. "Perhaps you recall feeling dizzy or light-headed before passing out?"

Hermione answered the healers questions mechanically, but found she couldn't tear her eyes from Rosaline seated just a few feet from her. With her green eyes, and slightly more athletic figure, it was obvious that her sister took more after their mother's side of the family that their father's. Nevertheless, with their matching complexions and similar manes of often unmanageable curls, it was obvious that they were closely related.

"Well then," exclaimed Weir, clapping his meaty palms together after exhausting his supply of medical questions. "As I haven't detected any more serious explanation for your episode," he began, scrunching the strip of ticker tape into a ball and depositing it in a rubbish bin set in the corner of the room. "I can't see any reason why you can't go home tonight. I'll want to observe you for the rest of the day, mind," he added. "You suffered a mild concussion when you fell, but the potions we gave you seem to be doing their jobs. Try not to over exert yourself. Stay in bed if you can - I'm sure your sister can fetch anything you need."

Hermione offered a promise to remain in bed with her thanks, and a moment later the Healer had bustled out of the room leaving Hermione and Rosaline alone.

"So you're sure you feel okay?" asked Rosaline, scooting her chair forward to the edge of the bed. "I know how stubborn you can be about admitting you're not feeling well."

Hermione considered the question as she regarded at the young woman opposite her. How long had she longed for this? A sister. A complete family of her own. Yes, she had her Mum and Dad of course, and she had been welcomed with open arms into the Weasley clan. But she had always felt like there was something missing - a hole that couldn't be filled.

_Until now._

"I'm fine. Better than fine," she said truthfully.

"If your sure?" replied Rosaline, the hint of unease evident in her tone quickly retreating, replaced by one of gentle teasing. "I can't have my maid of honour passing out on me whilst we plan my big day."

_You're getting married?_ Hermione nearly squealed in delight as her eyes slid to the large solitaire diamond on her sister's slender finger, before remembering 'she' no doubt already knew of this fact - especially given that she was apparently the maid of honour. "Well you know how I love to organise things," she said instead, thinking it likely that she would excel at planning in any universe.

Evidently, she was correct, and Rosaline's features broke into a soft smile. "I knew I'd made the right choice. You're so good at that kind of thing - I haven't got a clue!" she said, before adding hastily, "That and the fact that your my favourite sister of course!"

Hermione laughed. "I'm your _only_ sister," she joked, marvelling at how easy it was to interact with someone she knew only as a tiny baby from distant childhood memories.

"That too," agreed Rosaline, her gently unturned lips morphing into a beaming smile.

Hermione laughed again but this time it was more a way of stalling for time than out of any mirth. Of the multitude of questions that occurred to her - _Who's the groom? When's the big day?_ _Where's the service?_ - all would reveal her identity as someone other than 'the' Hermione Weasley of this universe. Realising intuitively that revealing the truth would likely book her one-way passage to the Janus Thickey Ward, Hermione made a silent vow to speak of her experience with no one. Providence had taken Rosaline from her once before, but now that she had been given a second chance to know her sister, she wasn't going to ruin it over something as inconsequential as which universe she had been born in. She _was_ Hermione Jean Weasley - in any universe.

"So, you'll be pleased to know, we set a date," supplied Rosaline. "27th of March, next year."

Hermione smiled. This would be easier than she'd hoped. At this rate she would learn of all the subtle differences between the two realities by dinner time. "That's great, Rosie," she said aloud. "Spring weddings are beautiful."

"If the Scottish weather behaves itself," replied her sister with a nervous giggle. "We've decided to have the ceremony at Hogwarts - it's where we met after all."

_So she's a witch too,_ noted a Hermione happily. It was already probable as she had brought Hermione to St Mungo's and not one of the many muggle hospitals in London, but this proved it, and Hermione wondered how her time at Hogwarts would have been altered with a younger sibling in the year below her.

At that moment the door swung open again and admitted the two people who could make this moment truly perfect. "Harry! Ron!" Hermione exclaimed in order of their appearance in the doorway. Paying no heed to the healer's instructions, she roughly pushed her bedding aside and got to her feet, and was pleased to find them strong and steady beneath her.

"Watch out," teased Rosaline, as she too got to her feet to great the newcomers. "That bump to the head has turned her into a hugger!"

Resisting the urge to stick her tongue out at her younger sister, Hermione happily allowed Harry to gather her into an embrace. "We came as fast as we could, but we were on duty," supplied Harry, shooting a glance towards Ron, who, like Harry, wore the familiar blue hued robes synonymous with Ministry Aurors. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, Harry. _Really_," she added emphatically as Harry pulled her back to arms length, studying her intently. "I just got too much sun or something."

"Just so long as you're alright," replied Harry, an emotion she couldn't quite place evident in his green eyes - a shade or two darker than Rosaline's she now noted.

"You don't have to worrying about our Hermione, Harry," joked Ron. "A bit of heat stroke won't stop her if the most evil dark wizard in the last few centuries couldn't."

_Ron! _Hermione's heart soared, and she quickly disentangled herself from Harry's arms, before all but throwing herself at her husband. But even before he had turned his face to the side, so that the kiss she had aimed at his lips merely grazed his cheek instead, Hermione knew something was terribly wrong. Her brows furrowed as she sensed the discomfort literally radiating from him as he returned the embrace awkwardly - it was like they were teenagers again.

"Bloody hell, Rosie you weren't kidding," he spluttered as he withdrew from the uncomfortable embrace. "What's gotten into you, Hermione?"

Hermione paled visibly as she took in the scene before her. "I - I," she stammered, her gaze flitting first to Ron's shocked expression, then to his right hand, now conjoined with Rosaline's who had moved around the bed to join him, her diamond engagement ring glittering in the sun light filtering in through the blinds. Hermione's eyes grew wide with understanding. "I - I'm sorry. I c-can't do this."

Without so much as another word, Hermione shoved past a bewildered looking Harry, bolted from the room, picked a direction at random, and pounded down the corridor as fast as she could, tears streaming down her face, blurring her vision.

* * *

><p>Some time later, there was a knock at the door of the storage cupboard that Hermione had sequestered herself in. "Go away, Harry" she hiccuped, knowing who it was without the need for a sensory charm of any sort - he had always been the one to find and console her - usually after a fight with Ron - but not even Harry could fix this.<p>

Sure enough, Harry's muffled reply sounded a moment later. "I just want to make sure you're alright, Hermione."

"I - I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine. Do you want me to find a healer?"

"No doctor can fix a broken heart," she mumbled under her breath as the millennia old words of Heraclitus rose to the surface of her thoughts._ "It would not be better for mankind if they were given their desires."_

How could she have been so stupid? Had she not witnessed the sheer number of possible universes herself first hand? True, the memories of that nether-land between worlds were already slipping away from her like grains of sand falling through an hour glass, but the snatches of images she could recall told her that 'she' had been romantically involved with more people than she could keep track of, so why had she not even considered the possibility that, in this reality, she and Ron had never married? True, their relationship was often a little strained, occasionally fractious, but she did love him.

_Ron_. Guilt threatened to swallow her whole as she realised that she hadn't even thought of her husband once since arriving in this universe, so consumed had she been by the joy of seeing her sister again. How must he be feeling now, having witnessed her disappearance into the mirror? Would he now see a way to rescue her into this world reflected in the depths of the ancient device? Would he be tormented, like she had been, by the apparent impossibility of the images the mirror chose to share?

"Look," came Harry's voice again, rousing Hermione from her despair, "I'm coming in, okay?" Hermione made no attempt to prevent the door from cracking open, her eyes retreating to slits in the shaft of bright light pouring in from the hall beyond. "We were worried," he said pushing the door half closed behind him, the sliver of light which now crossing the threshold allowing the shadows to advance from the corners a little. "We've been looking everywhere for you. Ron and Rosie are frantic," he concluded, crouching down to where Hermione sat forlornly on an upturned bucket.

At the mention of her sister and erstwhile husband, Hermione dropped her gaze to the floor. "I just want to go home," she whispered, knowing Harry could have no way of understanding her real request.

For a moment, Harry said nothing. He extended his right hand and gently cupped her under the chin to lift her gaze to meet his, using his thumb to brush away her tears. In the dim light of the storage cupboard, Hermione could see her own reflection in the circular lenses of Harry glasses - her eyes were puffy, and her cheeks were red and blotchy, but when she looked past her own pitiful reflection, she saw the same unidentified emotion in Harry's eyes that she had seen earlier. "Anything," he said. "Just tell me what you need."

Hermione made her decision. Harry would help her, she was sure of it, no matter which universe it was. "I need you to help me find the Mirror of Erised."

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Author Musings<strong> - I know, I know, I'm a terrible tease. So for three chapters I've been harping on about the green eyes in the mirror, when all along they belonged to Rosaline and not Harry as might have been expected. This story will still be H/Hr, but the romance is going to be a long time coming *ducks* I beg your forgiveness, but at least the romance is immediate in Better Never than Late. Talking of which, my next update will probably be on that story so you might have to wait a few weeks for an update on Desire._

_I hope everyone's going to like Rosaline - I want to make her a well rounded character and not some faceless OC. Like Hermione, she is named after a character from Shakespeare, and (in my head) is the reason Hermione names her daughter Rose in canon. For anyone who's interested, she was born in August 1981, making her nearly two years younger, but only one academic year behind Hermione._

_Oh, and for those of you who wondered (as Hermione did in this chapter) what happened to this universes original Hermione, that too will be revealed at a later date._

_Till next time peeps,_

Wings.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N - **This is very much shorter than I wanted it to be, but as I'm now incommunicado for two weeks, I wanted to put something up. In my hurry I also haven't been able to Beta check it, so please forgive the errors that no doubt riddle it!_

_**Disclaimer** - I bet JK never published a half finished chapter. As I have, I can't be her! Potter is not mine._

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

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><p><em>"The Mirror of Erised?"<em> The bewilderment in Harry's tone made it obvious that this had been the very last thing he had expected her to say.

In lieu of any verbal response, Hermione offered him a single, slow nod in confirmation of what, even to her own ears, sounded like a particularly strange request.

However, far from clarifying the situation, if anything, Harry appeared even more perplexed. "As in _the_ Mirror of Erised?" he repeated, his emphasis on the third word making it sound as if the mirror were some sort of legend or myth, rather than the ancient, and very real magical artefact they both knew it to be.

Again, certain that she would lose her tenuous grip on the fragile emotion control she had managed to re-establish should she speak, Hermione could only nod.

Harry removed his glasses and sank back onto his haunches until his back was pressed against the door frame of the storage closet. "I haven't even the slightest idea where it might be," he said, massaging his eyelids between thumb and forefinger. "Dumbledore never told me what he did with it after he used it to protect the Philosopher's Stone. Besides," he added, replacing his spectacles and fixing Hermione with a look of commingled curiosity and concern, only one of his emerald eyes not shrouded in shadow in the dimly lit cupboard. "What could you possibly want with it anyway?"

Hermione hesitated, her half formed answer dying on her lips. _Can I really tell him_ _everything?_ she wondered silently.

Had the same question been posed by the Harry she had known for close to fifteen years, she knew she would have answered it in a heartbeat. However, and as her logical side now pointed out, this wasn't _her_ Harry at all - despite their near identical appearances (this iteration of her best friend's hair had been allowed to grow considerably longer than she was used to) - she could have no way of knowing how he might react to the revelation that she was not the Hermione Granger he had known for more than a decade.

She realised now, that her earlier belief that she could unravel the 'subtle differences' between between the two worlds by dinner time had been naive in the extreme. No, now that she had opened the door for her intellect to explore the full extent of the ramifications of her sister's survival in this timeline, she understood that, whilst the changes to this universe would have been subtle at first - at least on grand scale - the farther from the point of divergence this reality moved, the more knock-on effects would have been created.

It was, she noted, completely feasible, that events could have unfolded so differently here, that everyone she believed she knew, had in fact been moulded into completely different people. Therefore, as much as she hated the very notion of questioning Harry's trustworthiness, rationally, she knew she had no choice but to be cautious in deciding to whom she could trust the secret of her origins.

Certain that she had remained silent for too long, Hermione cast about for some part of the truth - she owed him that much at least - that she could offer in response to his query, but came up blank - any part of the truth would invite yet more questions, none of which she felt comfortable answering at this juncture.

Fortunately, she was saved from having to fabricate an answer by Harry who, either unmindful of the fact that his question had gone unanswered, or oblivious to the doubts Hermione felt certain were writ large on her features, continued speaking. "I don't think I ever told you this, Hermione," he said at length, his voice now softer - further away somehow. "But when I first discovered the mirror, it showed me my parents."

Hermione endeavoured to school her features to display no hint of surprise, but felt certain she had failed - in her universe, Harry _had_ confessed that very fact to her shortly after her return from the Christmas holidays.

Logically, she knew that he could have no way of knowing that her surprise stemmed, not from his admission of what the mirror had shown him, but from that admissions _omission_ from history. Nevertheless, she felt unable to hold his gaze any longer and duly dropped her eyes towards the floor. _Perhaps,_ she mused sadly, _we simply weren't as close friends in this version of reality? _

"They were so real I could almost reach out and touch them," continued Harry, his eyes taking on a distant quality as he evidently re-lived the events of thirteen years ago. "But they weren't real - " he added after a beat, his voice now edged with something approaching bitterness. " - and trust me, it isn't pleasant seeing things you know can never be true."

Motivated by the pain evident in his voice, and not wishing him to dwell on the harrowing memories any longer, now Hermione did speak. "I can explain everything," she assured him, lifting her chin slightly. "But right now I need to know I can count on you."

That did it.

As quick as lightning, Harry pushed himself forward, the melancholy in his demeanour dissipating as quickly as it had arisen, as he fully emerged into the light spilling past the partially closed door and over the threshold. Reaching forwards he grasped both of Hermione's hands in his own (effectively preventing them from continuing to wring in her lap) and fixed her with a sincere gaze. "Of course," he replied, offering a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "I told you ... _anything_," he concluded tracing his thumbs over the back of her palms soothingly.

A wan smile formed on her lips - she should have known that Harry would always be there for her, no matter what universe. She lifted her tear filled eyes in an attempt to convey her thanks wordlessly in a manner she hoped he would recognise as easily as _her_ Harry would have but instead found his eyes averted, a pensive expression etched onto his brow as he stared at their conjoined hands.

It was a look she knew all too well from their many years of friendship - Harry was attempting to summon the courage to ask a question he suspected he didn't want an answer to.

She was right.

"But what does all of this have to do with your sister and Ron?" he asked a heartbeat later. "You're not ... you don't ... you don't still ... "

_Like him, do you?_ supplied Hermione silently, mentally completing the line of thought Harry had been apparently unable to wrap his head around.

"Of course I _like_ him, Harry," she said aloud, hating how much the use of that particular verb made her sound like a fourteen year old with a crush._ He's my husband_, she added silently.

Now Harry's gaze did snap up, and, for a brief moment green eyes met brown, a new emotion - one which Hermione had just as much difficulty in placing - reflected in their malachite depths.

"But it's been, what - " Harry said, quickly redirecting his gaze towards the toes of his boots preventing Hermione from being able to fully decipher the transient flash of emotion she was certain she had seen there. Was it hurt? Confusion perhaps? Maybe even a hint of disappointment? " - nearly nine years since you guys tried dating? You haven't been hoping to get back together all this time have you?"

Hermione felt her brow reach for the darkened light fixture overhead. _We dated? In school?_ _But why wouldn't it have worked out here when we married in my reality?_ she wondered.

Filing the questions away as unimportant now she had decided to abandon this world, she returned her attention to Harry who was still attempting to process her statement aloud. "Is that what you want the mirror for? To see if Ron is really what your heart wants?"

There was something about the hollow, almost deadened quality of Harry's voice as he voiced his last question that galvanised the decision Hermione had been wrestling with for the last several minutes. "I don't need the mirror to look inside my heart, Harry," she said, her voice small as if she couldn't quite believe she was actually going to tell him this. _I already know what it wants_, she added silently.

"Then what?"

Hermione swallowed hard. _This was it_. "I need it to go home, Harry."

"Wait. What? Go home?" stammered Harry, his brow knitting together in confusion. "I'm sorry Hermione, you've totally lost me."

"I don't really understand most of it myself," she admitted, fixing her gaze on his, willing him to accept her next words as the truth. "But the mirror doesn't just show the world as we wish it could be, it shows us another reality - another Universe - in which our deepest, most desperate desires have already come to pass.

"Don't ask me to explain how, but somehow it can even act as some sort of ... _portal _between those worlds" she continued, stumbling slightly over her choice of words. "The mirror isn't just some pointless curiosity, it's a gateway to innumerable version of reality."

Harry eyed her quizzically. "I'm still not exactly sure what it is you're trying to tell me."

Hermione took a deep breath. "I - I'm not from your universe, Harry - "

"That's ... that's not possible," he interrupted.

"I promise you it's the truth," she insisted. "I'm not Hermione Granger - not the Hermione Granger you know anyway. I'm Hermione Jean Weasley and I've been married to Ron for nearly two years."

"Bloody hell." Harry released her hands and sank back onto his haunches, his reaction - a passable imitation of her husband's oft used phrase - suggesting he believed her story.

A host of new emotions played across Harry's expressive face, the muscles in his jaw working as if to speak. But, although he opened and closed his mouth several times, the only sounds to issue forth were incomprehensible, his ability to form coherent speech momentarily rendered mute by the enormity of Hermione's revelation.

Even in the magical world, Hermione knew that the thought of countless versions of reality, each playing out simultaneously, was almost beyond comprehension. After a time, and only when it became clear that Harry was not going to volunteer any thoughts on the matter, Hermione voiced the question she both needed and dreaded an answer to in equal measures. "Will you still help me?"

When he did not answer straight away, Hermione's blood turned to ice. He ran his hands through his long hair and slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers. She tried not to fidget, as, for what felt like an eternity, Harry simply stared at her, perhaps seeing her in a whole new light. Finally, he lowered his chin in the smallest of nods.

Relief flooded through Hermione's veins - for one heart stopping moment she felt certain he was going to refuse. "Thank you, Harry," she said sincerely, drying the last of her tears on the back of her hands, before pushing herself to her feet. Now that she had a purpose and an ally, she was keen to get to work and she opened her mouth to voice that very desire.

"But I need to know one thing first," interrupted Harry, forestalling her suggestion that they should both travel immediately to Germany where she knew the mirror had been discovered in her universe. "If you're here," he continued the moment he had her full attention, "then where's my ... _our_ Hermione?"

Briefly caught of guard, not only by the question, but by the tone in his voice - distressed, fearful, even a hint of despair - Hermione regarded her best friend questioningly. His gaze was downcast, and though his raven hair flopped forward into his eyes it only partially hid the creases of worry which traversed his brow.

Hermione's eyes widened in sudden understanding as she recognised the expression as the very same one she had worn more times than she cared to admit towards the end of her school career as she wondered if Ron would ever notice her. "How long?" she asked.

"Honestly?" replied Harry, intuitively understanding her question and lifting his chin to meet her eyes. "For longer than I ever realised."

Their roles briefly reversed, Hermione dropped to her knees, ensnaring Harry's hands in her own. "Like I told you, I don't understand most of this myself, but I promise you that I will do everything in my power to help you find her - it's the least I can do to repay you for helping me."

Harry offered her a sad smile by way of reply, and Hermione knew that he had recognised the sincerity with which she had made that vow. _Perhaps there is a way to ensure two happy endings to this ordeal_.

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><p>Five minutes later, having exited the closet a suitable period of time apart (it really wouldn't do for the rumour of a broom cupboard tryst between The Boy Who Lived and the brains of the golden trio to get started), Harry and Hermione met as agreed at the disapparation point.<p>

"So what's our first move?" Harry asked as she approached, his voice sounding normal once more.

Hermione mulled over their options. A moment ago she had been all for hunting down the mirror immediately, but, as she now realised that her own future was not the only thing at stake, she would need to re-evaluate her course of action.

"Obviously I'll need to find and study the mirror," she said, formulating a plan aloud. "But first I think we should pool our knowledge. There's no guarantee that anything I know regarding the whereabouts of the mirror will hold true in this universe. In mine, I discovered it amongst a seizure of assets that had been transferred and quarantined in the Department of Mysteries after a tip off regarding former Voldemort supporters led us to a small cell operating in northern Germany.

A thoughtful look crossed Harry's face. "It doesn't ring a bell," he said. "We can go to my apartment. I've got secure access to most ministry files from there - we could see if there has been any intelligence reports to corroborate your information.

Hermione signified her agreement with a single, curt nod.

"You better take my hand," suggested Harry, extending his right hand towards her. "My Hermione was keyed in to my wards, but I don't know if you will be too - don't want you getting splinched," he added, with a trace of his usual, easy repartee with her.

"Lead on," she replied taking the proffered hand, the familiar, crushing sensation of apparition sweeping through her a moment later.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><strong>Author Musings<strong> - As I said at the top, sorry for the short chapter, but I didn't like the thought of you all waiting on a new update for two weeks. The rest of the chapter is obviously meant to continue at Harry's apartment, but I just ran out of time to finish it.

As always, I love to hear your thoughts - I'll reply to all of them when I get back.

Till next time peeps

Wings


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N - **This chapter has been a right royal pain. With so much back story to cover for this alternate universe I really struggled to get the balance right between detailing enough of this new world without going off on a tangent. In all honesty I am still not 100% happy with it, but I was feeling so guilty for leaving you all hanging, I had to put something out. As it has been such a long wait, I have included my customary recap at the bottom of the page.

**Disclaimer** - Aside from Rosaline, everything belongs to Jo.

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><p><strong>'Desire"<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

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><p>After what felt like an inordinately long transit, during which Hermione could have sworn she could actually feel Harry's extensive magical protection prodding and testing her every molecule, the crushing darkness of apparition finally released her and she found herself standing in the centre of a large, modern, open plan living room. Directly opposite her stood a wall which featured exposed brickwork and a large, industrial looking fireplace, whilst to her left, two large, arched windows looked out over the rooftops of the nearby buildings, the fiery ball of the sun partially hidden behind them as it neared the conclusion of its stately arch towards the horizon. She could detected the sounds of the crowded street from several floors below, but noted that they sounded oddly muffled - <em>distant<em> - despite the fact that the busy road was no doubt teeming with people and vehicles as the cities workers fought their way home in the evening rush. _A privacy ward,_ she reasoned. _And a powerful one at that._

To her right there was a sleek, white kitchen, whilst at her back lay a small corridor that presumably led to the apartments private spaces. In its minimalism, the loft was quite unlike any wizard home she had ever set foot in before, and certainly about as far removed from the always slightly ramshackle appearance of Grimmauld Place (the house her Harry had elected to make a home) as it was possible to be.

Releasing her hand slightly quicker than the decorum of side-along apparition usually deemed necessary, Harry quickly moved into the space and began gathering up odd socks, discarded pizza boxes and an array of other household detritus. "Sorry for the mess," he offered with a lopsided grin that Hermione knew so well. "If I'd have known I was having visitors, I'd have tidied up a bit."

Hermione quirked a brow, both in amusement that he, like his alternate self, still insisted on clearing up without the assistance of magic, but also at the realisation that this home had very clearly never seen a woman's touch. This was a bachelor pad if ever she had seen one.

Before her conscious mind could so much as highlight the fact that this Harry had already admitted the depths of his feelings towards her alternate self, Hermione found her lips in motion. "I take it you don't live with Ginny then?"

Fault lines of distress that seemed likely to pull him apart appeared on his forehead and jaw the moment she voiced the question aloud causing her to instantly regret bringing up his alter-ego's spouse.

"Ginny? Ginny Weasley?" he asked, his voice sounding oddly flat and emotionless as he deposited his armful of clutter onto a previous unnoticed arm chair hidden beneath a pile of unpressed laundry. He flopped down onto the large, comfortable, L-shaped sofa set in the centre of the space and fixed his green eyes on her. "We're together where you're from." It wasn't a question.

A look of concern striated Hermione's brow - what could have possibly happened between her best friend and erstwhile sister-in-law to beget such a bleak reaction at the mere mention of her name? She lowered herself so that she was perched on an arm, farthest from Harry's end of the sofa. "You're married," she supplied by way of confirmation. "Expecting your first child any day now," she concluded, before feeling compelled to add, "A boy...you want to name him James."

Harry lent forward until his elbows touched his knees and ran both of his hands through his dishevelled hair which was almost long enough to pull into a ponytail as he demonstrated by holding the mass of raven locks behind his skull for a few seconds as he assimilated Hermione's words. "I - I can't picture it," he said at length, releasing his hair, allowing it to flop forward and hide his face from view as he starred at the hardwood flooring. "She was just a kid when she ... "

_Was._ Tiny spiders with ice cold feet marched up her spine as Hermione understood the implication of that single word. "When she died," she concluded aloud, her heart breaking in two as she considered the loss of one of her best friends.

Harry nodded - a tiny, almost imperceptible jerk of his head. "She was a sweet kid and all - a little bit infatuated with me of course - but I just can't imagine ever falling in love with her."

"What happened?" Hermione voiced the question as little more than a whisper.

In lieu of a response, Harry continued to stare at the floor giving Hermione cause to wonder whether he had actually heard her question at all. She refrained from repeating it, however, unsure if she even wanted an answer.

Nevertheless, after a somewhat uncomfortable silence, she would receive one.

"Voldemort killed her." His voice was a flat monotone, and for a moment Hermione felt certain he would expand his blunt statement no further. But, after pausing to draw a deep, cleansing breath, continue he did. "We still don't really understand everything that happened that day," he said, lifting his gaze towards the vista of the blood red ball of the setting sun beyond his apartment. Hermione felt certain that the majesty of the scene was lost on him, the only windows he was truly looking through at that moment, those to his past. "She was taken into the Chamber of Secrets at the end of our second year. We didn't know at the time, but for most of that year she had been under the influence of a diary that the young Tom Riddle had left behind to continue his efforts to rid the school of muggle-born witches and wizards.

"Over the year there were several attacks, each more serious than the last, until eventually, with the ministry in disarray, and the school on the verge of closure, she was taken into the chamber. No one knows for certain, but Dumbledore told me later that he thought that Voldemort had somehow transferred Ginny's life-force to himself, and, in doing so, returned to full power."

His voice sounded noticeably stronger now and Hermione wondered whether he had ever properly spoken about her death before, the very act of talking of those events so long ago evidently proving cathartic to him. _Could he really have been bottling it up all this time?_ Hermione mused silently.

Noting that Harry was still speaking in the same unhurried cadence, she returned her full attention to his explanation.

" - We didn't discover until much later that the diary actually concealed a piece of Voldemort's soul - a horcrux to protect him against mortal death - and, just like Dumbledore had theorised, eventually that fragment was able to completely take control of Ginny and ... " Harry's words trailed away, a new realisation now evident in depths of his malachite eyes. "Wait a minute," he exclaimed. "You're telling me that none of this happened in your world?"

"It did," she replied meekly, already not liking the route her logic dictated this reality must have played out. "But, where I'm from, you and Ron were able to figure out how to get into the chamber and rescue her."

Harry's next words were out of his mouth almost before Hermione had finished her sentence. "But how? We didn't figure out how to get down there until our fourth year," he expanded. "We ended up using it as a shelter when Voldemort and his forces attacked the school at the end of our sixth," he finished, his voice taking on the similar, far-away quality it had earlier that evening in the hospital.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably on her perch. It was now obvious to her what must have happened. "I wasn't - I mean the other me - wasn't around much that year, was I?"

Apparently unfazed by her apparent non-sequitur, Harry answered immediately. "No. Your parents pulled both you and Rosie out of school after Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick were attacked before Christmas. They didn't let either of you return until the start of your third year, and even then it was a close run thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they were dark times," continued Harry. "Voldemort was back and gathering supporters again, and your mum and dad - like a lot of muggle-born parents to be fair - weren't exactly thrilled with the idea of sending their children back to a world where they were targets."

Hermione nodded, a haunted expression briefly crossing her features as she recalled the fear which forced muggle-borns like herself into hiding in her seventh year. "What changed?" she wanted to know.

"Dumbledore." The single word was offered almost as explanation in itself. "After Ginny was murdered his suspension from his position as headmaster became permanent, but he made it his personal mission to contact muggle-borns and their family to implore them to continue their magical education."

"That can't have been easy," put in Hermione, knowing just how frightened many of her classmates families had been during those dark days.

"It wasn't," conceded Harry. "But he managed to persuade some that, with a war coming, they were targets either way and that they should learn to protect themselves. Thank God your parents listened to him - many of those who ignored his advice and returned to their muggle lives were amongst the first casualties of the war.

"I take it that didn't play out the same way for you?" he added after a moment of contemplative silence.

"Not exactly," she accepted as she slid from her perch onto the considerably more comfortable couch. "My parents didn't pull me out of school that year - "

" - Despite all the attacks on muggle-borns?" interrupted Harry, his tone coloured with disbelief. "You were worried sick about Rosie when the heir left his first message, but Ron and I managed to persuade you not to write to your parents. You were much harder to convince after Colin was petrified and no one was going to stop you from protecting your sister when Justin and Nearly-Headless Nick were attacked," he finished, the ghost of a smile gracing his lips at the memory.

"I asked them to take us home," reasoned Hermione, now confident enough in her earlier supposition not to phrase her statement as a question.

"But not in your world," stated Harry, equally as confidently. "Not even when that prefect ... Penelope Clearwater was killed?" he added after a brief pause to summon the name from the depths of his memory.

The tiny, cold footed spiders returned to Hermione's backbone, their glacial chill permeating to her core where it settled into a ball of ice she recognised as guilt. In her absence, Hermione realised, no one could have forewarned the Ravenclaw prefect of the dangers of the Basilisk, and, whilst logically, she knew that the death of someone who amounted to little more than a complete stranger to her wasn't her fault, she still felt a certain nagging culpability for her former school mate's untimely death it this universe.

"No," she repeated, deciding that there was no reason to go into the explanation of how Penelope had avoided that fate in her reality. "They never knew anything that happened at school that year. I - I never told them."

Harry eyed her quizzically. "I can't image you being any less protective of Rosaline, no matter which universe you call home," he said with a degree of certainty in his voice that Hermione found oddly comforting. The bond of trust that existed between Harry and herself in her own universe had evidently been recreated just as implicitly in this version of reality.

"I'm sure I _would_ have been," she answered softly, "but I never had a sister, Harry. At least, not for very long. Where I come from, Rosaline died when she was very young." Her voice was now clogged with emotion. The pain of her sisters death had long since dulled, but having seen the beautiful young woman she would have grown into just a few short hours ago had evidently reopened those old wounds.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Harry pulling her into a one-armed embrace. Unnoticed he had slid the length of the sofa to comfort her. "I can't even begin to image how hard it must have been for you to see her again."

Hermione swallowed the painful lump in her throat. "It was wonderful actually," she replied honestly as she rested her temple against Harry's shoulder in a manner so familiar to her as to be second nature. "But now I know I have to go back, it's going to be very hard to return to a world where she wasn't even given a chance."

For a long moment, neither of the former Gryffindors spoke and Hermione savoured the simple pleasure of Harry's presence, his powerful arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder, the warmth of his hot breath on the nape of her neck. Not for the first time she marvelled at Harry's instinctive ability to make her feel better, even without saying a word. It was strange, she noted, that he could be both so like, yet conversely so very unlike his alternate self, the events of this timeline conspiring to create a version of her best friend who appeared to still be carrying a great deal of baggage from the war that her Harry had gradually been able to offload over time thanks to the support of his friends and family. Yet, despite the additional torment and suffering that this iteration of her best friend had evidently had to endure, he had still grown into the same kind and caring person whom she loved so much.

Her silent musings were to be left unfinished, however, as Harry abruptly shifted from his seat, leaving her with a fleeting sense of disappointment that their quiet moment together was at an end. "Oh!" he exclaimed scooting forward and riffling through the pile of papers on his coffee table in a desultory manner. "I think you'll get a real kick out of this then," he added cryptically.

Her natural curiosity proving more powerful that the nascent flash of disappointment, Hermione found herself mimicking Harry posture so as to see first hand what he was evidently searching for.

"Got it," he proclaimed a moment later as he pushed aside a stack of fast food menus and fliers before thrusting a particularly well thumbed copy of the popular quidditch magazine, _Pitch,_ into her hands.

Hermione's gaze settled on the familiar green banner of the publication she was often driven to complete distraction by, her husband having developed the rather annoying habit of hoarding past copies of the magazine for what he called 'future research' - whatever that meant. Unsure what possible interest the the tatty old magazine could possibly hold for her now, she locked her somewhat skeptical brown eyes on Harry's, her right brow reaching towards the exposed timbers overhead in a manner that said as clearly as if spoken aloud, _'and this is?' _

No answer was necessary however, for as soon as the thought had coalesced in her mind, movement in her peripheral vision drew her attention back towards the front cover, her left eyebrow now joining the other in reaching towards her hairline as she recognised the young woman grinning back at her from the crinkled page as her younger sister.

"She a huge star," said Harry through a wide smile. "Even more famous than I am nowadays."

Hermione nodded absently as she read the headline - ROSALINE GRANGER: TORNADOES NEW DANGER WOMAN - a warm, affectionate smile gracing her lips as the magically animated photograph of her younger sibling, resplendent in robes of sky blue, performed a series a loops and rolls on her sleek looking racing broom.

"Almost broke their engagement off when she helped the tornadoes record their biggest ever win over the cannons,"

Hermione's smile collapsed. "No wonder Ron loves her," she said hating the flare of jealousy that blossomed within her chest. Whilst rationally she knew that Ron had not - _would not - _betray her by cheating on her with another woman, she could not help the way she was affected by the knowledge that there was perhaps someone out there who was a better match for her husband than she. "She's everything I could never be," she added in a small, sad voice.

"Hey...hey," shushed Harry, pulling her back into his arms, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and mortification that he had somehow caused her pain. "You're brilliant Hermione."

"You don't know anything about me." The words formed on her lips before she could consciously prevent it, and, for the second time that evening, Hermione wished for one of the tiny glass hourglasses that the ministry held under lock and key to reverse time. He had been so kind to her, the last thing she wanted to do was hurt his feelings.

Fortunately it appeared that Harry had taken no offence. "Yes I do," he said kindly, guiding her face gently towards his so that his sincere expression was reflected in her tear filled eyes. "I know that you are the smartest, most selfless person that I have ever met. You are kind and caring and loyal to a fault. I also know that you are both braver and more beautiful than than you could ever realise."

Hermione felt the colour rise into her cheeks - hearing Harry speaking about her in such a manner was so _weird, _yet conversely, something deep within her - something that she did not dare to name - stirred as she listen to his obviously heartfelt words. She offered him a beaming, if watery smile and succeed in blinking back all but one of her tears, the treacherous droplet that did slip manage to slip past her lashes promptly swept away by the pad of Harry's thumb.

Something in that single action spoke to Hermione, and, struck by sudden understanding, she reached up and grasped Harry's extended arm gently by the wrist, the lights in Harry's apartment choosing that same moment to magically illuminate themselves as the ambient lighting level dropped, the sun now hidden from view behind the cityscape. In one smooth motion she slipped her hand upwards, interlocking her fingers with his and lowered their conjoined hands back into his lap. "Have you ever told her how you feel?" she asked, knowing that he would intuitively understand that she spoke of the Hermione Granger who inhabited this universe.

Harry's gaze dropped to the point where their hands were joined, his voice issuing as less than a sigh, regret lacing the single word that followed. "No."

When he had admitted his feelings towards the other Hermione in the hospital closet where he had found her, she had simply assumed that the two of them had been in a relationship. It had never even crossed her mind that Harry, the bravest person she had ever known, had never been able to summon the courage to confess the depths of is feelings to her alter-ego.

"We'll get her back, I swear Harry," she said aloud. "Just promise me you're going to tell her how you feel."

"I'm not sure it would help much," Harry replied sadly. "I'm pretty sure she already knows ... You're pretty smart you know," he added a beat later with a hint of his usual good humour.

"But she doesn't reciprocate." It wasn't a question, but Harry answered anyway.

"She's still hung up on Ron - has been ever since they broke up," he said by way of explanation. "Everyone knows it ... well everyone except maybe Rosie and Ron themselves. You know Ron...he's never been the most clued in person when it comes to other peoples feelings, and you've always been so good at hiding your emotions around Rosie that I don't think she's ever suspected a thing."

Hermione felt a fleeting urge to come to her husband's defence, but elected to hold her tongue when she found that she could not deny the truth of Harry's words. Even back home their relationship could occasionally be described as tempestuous, their heated arguments often a direct result of her husband's insensitivities - whether real or perceived.

"But you've noticed?" Hermione asked at length. "The way Hermione feels about him I mean."

"Yeah," chuckled Harry. "Me and everyone else with a pair of eyes - not that it ever made much sense to any of us mind," he added. "You two were always squabbling whilst you were together."

"Well they were both very young," replied Hermione finding it peculiar to be both discussing herself in the third person, but also at the inexplicable need she felt to defend a relationship that she had to acknowledge sounded a great deal like her own marriage with Ron. She couldn't help but wonder however, if they bickered just as much in this universe as in her own, what had changed that meant their relationship failed to last?

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding as a piece of the mystery of this universe slid into place in her mind. "That's why Ron and I never worked out here," she reasoned aloud. "He couldn't ever forgive me for the death of his sister."

Apparently, this Harry was as familiar with the manner in which she often voiced her inner-thoughts aloud, for he made no comment regarding the abrupt topic change. Instead, he took on a thoughtful countenance. "Yeah," he replied with a laconic shrug. "I'd never thought about it like that before, but it makes sense. You and he broke up shortly after you pieced together all the clues about how to find the Chamber in our fourth year - I guess he figured that if you could have done the same thing a couple of years earlier, Ginny might not have died."

"And he was right," said Hermione. "In the world I'm from, that's exactly what happened."

Harry pursed his lips, as if to whistle in wonder, although no sound escaped. "It's almost beyond comprehension, isn't it?" he said in awe. "That one little change - one life - could effect so much..."

"It's certainly extremely thought-provoking," agreed Hermione, picking up the baton of the conversation as Harry's words trailed away to nothing. "I could spend several lifetimes studying just this one reality, and the butterfly effect of Rosaline's ... " Hermione abruptly stopped speaking, her hands flying to her mouth. "Rosaline!" she repeated, the word muffled behind her clasped hands. "We just left her at the hospital," she said springing to her feet. "She - they must be frantic - "

"It's all taken care of," interjected Harry, as he too found his feet and took hold of Hermione by the shoulders to prevent her from diving into the floo that her eyes kept flitting towards. "I found Ron and Rosie before we left the hospital - told them you were just a bit disorientated and that I was bringing you back here."

"But what about the hospital? I wasn't discharged or anything." She couldn't say why, but leaving the hospital without the proper authorisation bothered her almost as much as the distress her absence would have caused her sister and Ron.

"Being me does have its advantages," replied Harry with a boyish grin. "I just flashed this," he said indicating is golden auror badge pinned inside his robes, "and told them that you were needed on official business."

Hermione stopped trying to squirm away from his grip and visibly relaxed. "That was really kind of you, Harry," she said resisting the urge to peck him on the cheek as she would have normal done - the action would have felt strange here for some reason.

"I have my moments," he replied with an easy smile.

"With so many universes to choose from, you were bound to have one eventually," she teased, eliciting a look of mock hurt on Harry's features.

His faux upset had the desired effect and Hermione gave her first genuine laugh since learning that she would need to leave this world, a realisation that crystallised as soon she noted the look of wistful longing which appeared on Harry's face as her lilting laughter filled the room. _I don't belong here._

Decision made, she said, "Whilst I am here I think it is probably best if I have as little contact as possible with - " _Rosaline and Ron,_ she finished inwardly as her statement was interrupted by a chime that she did not recognise, the fire on the far wall flaring green a moment later.

Knowing who it was before the flames diminished, Hermione turned to see her sister stepping from the grate dusting soot from her cloak, her features warring somewhere between a look of concern and one of scolding.

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Recap <strong>_

_**Chapter one -** Hermione finds herself addicted to the mirror of erised which taunts her with images of the thing she most desires._

_**Chapter two- **Harry and Ron race to find Hermione who is missing. They locate her moments too late and watch helplessly as Hermione is pulled into the mirror. _

_**Chapter three -** Hermione travels through the multiverse, landing in the world where her heart's desire has come to pass._

_**Chapter four - **We learn that Hermione's desire is not, as we had been lead to believe, Harry, but instead her younger sister who died as an infant. In this world she is alive and well and engaged to Ron, a discovery that leads to Hermione running away. _

_**Chapter five - **Hermione confesses the truth of her origins to Harry who promises to help her return home. In return, Hermione swears to help Harry find his own version of Hermione whom we learn he is in love with. _


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - **_As always there is a recap at the bottom of the page for those of you following multiple stories. _

**Disclaimer - **_*Insert standard small print about not owning Potter here._

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**By Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

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><p>The sight of her sister devouring the space between them with long, purposeful strides, her green eyes ablaze with the same fire Hermione now guessed her own eyes possessed in those moments when she had to forcibly hold her temper in check, gave her a first hand insight into the world of those who had wronged her, the temperature seemingly dropping several degrees as Rosaline advanced on her.<p>

"Rosaline," she squeaked, her feet carrying her a half step backwards unbidden. "I can - I can explain ... "

But whatever apology she planned to issue was lost as Rosaline pulled her into a bone crushing hug that spoke of extreme relief. "I was so worried," she breathed into her ear, maintaining the sort of hold on her sister than someone lost at sea keeps on their life preserver.

For an instant, Hermione was too stunned to do anything, her arms held rigid at her sides as she struggled to draw breath, such was the ferocity of Rosaline's embrace. However, and as if animated by an unseen puppet master, she quickly recovered and curled her arms upwards to return the gesture a moment later.

Chancing a glance past Rosaline's mane of curls, Hermione eyes sought out Harry, whom she found leaning nonchalantly against the kitchen counter. Knowing he would comprehend her meaning, she puckered her brows in a silent question. _What do I do?_

By way of reply, Harry offered her a one armed shrug, a gesture she took to mean, _'She's your sister, Hermione. Comfort her.' _Advice that, despite her assertion of less than thirty seconds ago that she should try to keep her distance from the sister she would have to leave behind, she elected to follow. After all, she couldn't deny, that holding her sister close felt as natural as breathing.

But even as she slid her open palm soothingly up and down her sister's back she felt Rosaline's entire bearing change abruptly. She broke free of their embrace and span on the spot, directing her once again furious gaze on Harry, his easy smile collapsing instantly as she rounded on him.

"And you!" she said, thrusting her index finger towards him whilst swiftly closing the space between them. "Don't - you - ever - do - that - again!" She punctuated each word with a punch to whatever piece of him that was within arm's reach.

"Ow! Rosie," he protested, retreating behind the counter and out of range. "Gerrof me."

"Flashing that little badge of yours and whisking Hermione away without a word," she continued incredulously, the lack of physical outlet for her anger sending her voice half an octave higher. "Am I supposed to be grateful that you sent your bloody patronus to pass the message along to me and Ron? You had no right, Harry Potter, no right - "

"It's okay, Rosie," interjected Hermione, cutting off her sister's increasingly irate list of grievances. Harry had only been following her wishes after all. It didn't seem right that he was bearing the brunt of her sister's all too familiar, Granger temper. She placed a calming hand on Rosaline's shoulder and gently cajoled her into meeting her eye.

"Don't be mad at Harry," she pleaded. "I asked him to bring me here, I just needed to ..." her words trailed off as her subconscious alerted her to a piece of information she had initially overlooked. "Wait ... did you say he sent his _patronus?_"

Rosaline nodded, both of her eyebrows reaching for the rafters, palms upturned, in a gesture Hermione read as expression of gratitude that someone else recognised the inconsiderate nature of that particular action. Had she spoken it aloud it would have been the equivalent of an exasperated_, 'I know, right?'_

"By the time Prongs caught up to us and I apparated back to St Mungo's from your flat, you'd already gone," she explained, leaving Hermione to surmise that both she and Ron had expanded the search from the hospital to her home - wherever that was.

"But I didn't know where you had gone," protested Harry. "I had to send my patronus."

It was a fair point, Hermione noted and she regarded her sister with an open expression she hoped would encourage her to elucidate further.

Evidently recognising that unspoken request, Rosaline continued, "But that's not the worst of it. Tell her what your message said, Harry ... "

For the first time, Harry looked a little abashed. "I've found her," he answered quietly.

Hermione's lips thinned. "That's it? Nothing else?"

"No," confirmed Rosaline. "Nothing else. I didn't know where you'd gone, or even if you were alright. All the nurses could tell me was that Harry had taken you away on 'official business'."

Now it was Hermione's turn to round on Harry. "Oh for goodness sake, Harry," she said, making no effort to hide her rising ire at his thoughtlessness - he could be as bad as Ronald sometimes. She told him as much before adding, "You told me you'd found them both before we left!"

Harry opened his mouth, presumably to defend himself against the accusation, but before he could so much as form the first syllable of that defence, Rosaline cut him off.

"Is that what he said?" She was already moving around the counter counter-clockwise as she posed the question. "Personally, I think we should teach him a lesson," and she drew her wand with a smile which could only be described as wicked.

Hermione stole a sideways glance towards her sister, and matched the almost imperceptible wink she offered, sealing their unspoken agreement to teach The Boy Who Lived not to cross the Granger sisters. "Seconded," she said aloud, withdrawing her own wand and moving in the opposite direction so as to cut off Harry's escape.

"Fred and George showed me a marvellous new hex," added Rosaline, her tone almost conversational. "I've not had the chance to try it out on a volunteer though ..."

Matching her sister's tone, Hermione replied deadpan, "You'll have to show it to me. You know how I love to learn."

"Ladies. Ladies," said Harry, nervously edging back until his spine made contact with the magical refrigerator at his back, his eyes darting anxiously towards his own wand which he had left lying atop the coffee table next to the now forgotten quidditch article. "Surely we can be mature about - "

Whatever else he planned to say was drowned out by the chime Hermione now recognised as a warning of an incoming floo traveler. A moment later the fire flared green for a second time and deposited a slightly sooty Ron Weasley into their mists.

"I've re-set the wards," he was saying, too busy dusting the soot from his clothes to notice the scene before him. "Flat's all locked - " His sentence was abruptly curtailed as he lifted his gaze and performed something of a double take as his blue eyes attempted to make sense of what he was seeing.

Harry stood pressed against the refrigerator with his hands raised in an obvious gesture of surrender, whilst his one-time girlfriend and current fiancée held him at wand point. In response to his sudden arrival, all three had turned their gazes towards him and now stood stock still, as if rabbits caught in the headlights of the flying car his father had once owned.

"What in the name of Merlin's saggy left - "

_"Ronald!" _admonished Hermione and Rosaline simultaneously, preventing the youngest surviving Weasley from completing his, no doubt colourful, profanity.

Involuntarily, the two sister's eyes snapped, first towards one another, then to Harry, before finally completing a full circle to land back on Ron, their composure collapsing at precisely the same moment, the pair dissolving into a fit of inarticulate giggles.

Ron's eyes narrowed. "Would someone like to tell me what the bloody hell is going on?" he demanded, his tone caught somewhere between exasperation and annoyance as his gaze shifted from the giggling sisters to Harry and back again.

"Just a friendly prank," grinned Harry and he sidestepped around Rosaline and Hermione, both girls now gasping for air and doubled over in hysterics, their interlinked arms the only thing preventing them from collapsing to all fours.

Apparently satisfied with that explanation, Ron took a couple of steps towards them, his head turned slightly to the side so as to scrutinise them more closely. "Do you think we should, you know, help them?" he suggested. "They're not usually that colour."

Harry chuckled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "No mate, I think they'll be fine in a couple of minutes. Come on, help me make them some tea and I'll tell you all about it."

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><p>After far longer than the predicted couple of minutes, Hermione and Rosaline finally re-established some semblance of control over their laughing fit and now sat side by side on Harry's plush sofa, the latter resting her temple against the former's shoulder.<p>

"Here you go, girls," said Ron, passing them both a mug of tea that had long since gone cold.

Rosaline, who's cheeks were still flushed, hiccuped a thank you as her fiancé placed the mug on the table before her, whereas, Hermione, could only stare at the face of the man she had married in another world - identical in every measurable way from the man she knew. She wordlessly accepted the proffered drink with what she hoped was a grateful smile, whilst simultaneously managing to avoid any direct eye contact. It was just too hard.

Thanks, no doubt, to the surge of endorphins she had experienced during her bout of uncontrollable laughter, Hermione had been able to briefly forget the torment this world inflicted on her soul every moment she remained. Or, perhaps more accurately, the joy of being able to experience the very real bond that her alternate self and her sibling so obviously shared had briefly succeeded in suppressing that anguish. However, with her mirth now quickly fading, Hermione was once more reminded of the stark reality before her: stay and lose the man she loved, or leave and lose a sister all over again.

Although she was very keenly aware that the young woman resting contentedly at her side was not really hersister, but that of another Hermione Granger, what did it matter really? Did they not share the same genetics, the same upbringing and, apparently, the same sense of humour? Leaving Rosaline behind would be just as hard as if they really had grown up together, harder perhaps, as she had never been given the chance to get to know her until now.

"I swear," Ron continued, unaware of Hermione's silent musings. "When you two get together, you're worse than Fred and George!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Rosaline poke her tongue out at her betrothed and only managed to resist the urge to follow suit herself by taking a sip of her tea. An action she immediately regretted, her nose wrinkling in disgust as the stone cold liquid ran down her throat.

"We were just making sure he'd learnt his lesson," put in Rosaline, lifting her head from her makeshift pillow so as to retrieve her own tea.

"And I have," chimed in Harry, who had taken up a position in his formerly cluttered armchair leaving Hermione in no doubt that he was taking no chances and had placed himself out of arm's reach - although whether a conscious or subconscious decision, she could not say. He pressed his right palm over his heart and continued, "I solemnly swear not to send a patronus to do a man's work from now on."

His play on his father's secret code to unlock the marauders map brought a smile to Hermione's lips and she immediately wished it hadn't; her cheeks (and her stomach for that matter) still ached from earlier.

"And don't you forget it," chided Rosaline as she brought the mug to her lips, her two hands clasped around its circumference. "Urgh. It's cold," she added, mimicking Hermione's facial expression so accurately that they could have been easily mistaken for twins.

"I'm still not sure I understand why you ran off in the first place, Hermione," put in Ron, half way towards depositing himself onto the far end of the couch. But instead of dropping onto the comfortable cushions, he arrested his momentum and moved back towards them. Perching himself on the edge of the coffee table he wordlessly relieved Rosaline of her mug and applied a quick warming charm to the beverage, thick tendrils of steam quickly issuing forth from the now once again piping hot drink. "Here you go, love," he said and was rewarded with a beaming smile as he returned the mug to her still open hands.

The unmistakable devotion evident in Ron's sapphire eyes made Hermione's heart physically ache and she fought against the moisture she could feel threatening to spill past her lashes. Unable to voice the thought that _this_ was exactly why she had fled the hospital, Hermione shot Harry a pleading look.

One that he evidently picked up on.

"Like I said, Ron," he replied as smoothly as if the original question had been directed towards him. "Hermione was just a bit disorientated when she came to. She asked me to bring her here, I did: end of story."

"But you're ok now, right?" interjected Rosaline, sitting up abruptly as if suddenly remembering why she had been searching for her sister in the first place.

"I'm fine, Rosie," came Hermione's instantaneous reply.

Perhaps too instantaneous.

Setting down her mug, Rosaline turned to face Hermione, her green eyes studying her intently. "Are you sure? You seem ... _different_ somehow. I can't describe it," she added with a small shake of her head.

Hermione schooled her features so as to display none of the shock she felt. _Rosaline can't suspect the truth. She can't,_ she thought ardently, as if the very act of even admitting the possibility would make it more likely to be true.

"I promise," she managed to reply a moment later and she was gratified to note that her voice didn't betray any of her inner surprise at her sister's insightfulness either. "I just must have just banged my head harder than I thought. I thought Ron and I were ... " She stopped herself from revealing to much mid-sentence, and backtracked to correct her near slip. "Well, I don't know what I thought," she clarified, "I was pretty spaced out there for a minute or two."

For a long moment that seemed to drag far longer that the two seconds Hermione knew it to be objectively, Rosaline continued to study her face, as if trying to discern any trace of deception, before her features split into a beaming smile once more in acceptance of her sister's assurances. "Well I guess if dear old Tom couldn't stop you, a little tumble was never going to manage it."

By way of reply, Hermione matched her sister's warm smile even as her ever curious mind wondered exactly what role her sister had played in Voldemort's downfall in this world; something she resolved to ask Harry at a later date.

"So that line you fed the staff," said Ron thoughtfully, breaking the short but comfortable silence that had settled across the room. "That was just a ruse to get Hermione out of there? You know old Kingsley won't be too happy with you if you keep misusing your powers like that - golden boy of the auror service or not."

"Actually, that was the truth," answered Harry. "Hermione _is_ helping me on a case at the moment."

_What are you doing?_ Hermione felt her eyebrows climb her forehead, an expression she noted was mirrored on the features of the rooms other occupants - although no doubt their surprise stemmed from the content of Harry's statement rather than his decision to voice it in the first place.

"Sounds exciting," said Rosaline eagerly. "We haven't had a good adventure in ages. What's the case?" she asked, directing her question to her sister.

Despite having no idea what she might say or where Harry was going with this, Hermione parted her lips to reply, but was saved from having to invent something by Harry clearing his throat as an obvious precursor to answering in her stead.

He wore an expression she knew so well (and had never had cause to doubt), one that, had he spoken aloud, would have consisted of just two words: _Trust me_. Recognising that she did trust this Harry as implicitly as her own, she offered him her silent agreement that he should be the one to steer the conversation.

With an almost imperceptible nod of acceptance, Harry took up the reins of the conversation. "I'm sorry, Rosie," he said, "but we can't tell you. You know how it is: Ministry business."

The anticipation etched onto Rosaline's face abruptly disappeared making it fairly obvious that she had been looking forward to another adventure as she had phrased it. "I could have been an auror too you know," she grumbled soto voce.

"But you're a huge quidditch star instead," replied Harry, his tone brokering no arguments. "I'm sorry, it's classified."

"But you can tell me though," said Ron. "And you know I'll just tell Rosie anyway, so you might as well just spill."

"Actually, I can't. This one's above your pay grade, mate. All I can tell you is that we're going to be taking a trip to the continent, and that even that's a detail can't leave this room."

For the merest of moments, Hermione thought Ron was going to protest at being excluded, but instead he simply nodded his ascent, this iteration of her husband either considerably more mature that her own, or else less prone to bouts of jealousy on such occasions that Harry was chosen over him.

"Shame," he said with a self deprecating grin, "I could have done with a bit of sun. I'm almost a pale as nearly headless Nick!" and he lifted the the sleeve of his robe to reveal a patch of pale, freckly skin.

Harry's features split into a wide grin. "Next time, mate. But actually," he continued, his professional mask slipping easily back into place, "we really need to get back to it. If you're feeling up to it of course?" he added switching his gaze to address Hermione directly.

Now understanding why Harry had chosen to reveal even this small piece of their plan, Hermione nodded her agreement. Had Harry not have played the 'classified' card Rosie and Ron would have surely stayed all night and she had already made it abundantly clear to Harry that she wanted to get to work immediately.

As it was, Ron was already on his feet and was in the process of helping Rosaline find hers. "You heard the man, love," he was saying. "Time we were heading home."

There were a few awkward moments as hugs were exchanged between each of the foursome in the too-small space between the coffee table and the couch - none more so that the fleeting embrace Hermione permitted herself with her erstwhile husband. However, before too long, both Rosaline and Ron stood before the fireplace, each clutching a large handful of floo powder.

"Be careful," said Rosaline, stealing another quick hug with her sister and sending copious amounts of powder spilling from her grip where it clung to the fabric of Hermione's clothes.

"Don't worry," put in Harry. "According to our intelligence, it should be a milk run," he concluded using the term that the auror office had appropriated from muggle bomber crews of the second world war to denote an easy task.

Rosaline gave a small, tight smile by way of reply as she released her sister before her eyes widened in sudden realisation.

"You're not going straight away, are you?" she asked, directing her question, not to Hermione, but to Harry. "We've got that - that thing, tomorrow ... _remember?_"

Harry cupped his chin for a moment. "Yeah, I should think one more day won't hurt. We'll be there."

Upon his agreement, Harry was nearly bowled over by a bushy haired missile that was Rosaline. "Thanks, Harry," she said happily before positively bounding over the grate and onto the hearth. "Come on then, Ron," she added impatiently.

With an apologetic shrug, Ron quickly joined her. "The Burrow," they shouted in unison and promptly disappeared in a haze of green smoke.

Hermione watched until the flames had receded, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she realised that she missed her sister already; leaving was definitely going to be harder that she had thought and she hugged her arms around her torso to provide a modicum of comfort.

"Sorry about that."

Pulled from her silent musings, she could offer only an inarticulate, 'huh?'' in response to Harry's statement. Distracted as she was, although she had registered him speaking, she had not been able to discerned any real meaning from the words.

"I said," repeated Harry pulling her into a one armed hug and guiding her back to the sofa, "that I was sorry for having to mention our trip."

"Actually, I thought that was rather clever," she replied, sculpting her body to his side as they dropped back onto the couch. "This way they know we've got a job to do but they're not going to be constantly asking what it is."

"Like I said, I have my moments," he replied, extracting his arm from behind her back so that he could lean forward and retrieve her mug. "You haven't touched your tea," he said.

"It's cold," Hermione replied, perhaps unnecessarily.

With practised ease, Harry's wand was in his hand almost before she had finished her statement. Using the same spell that Ron had employed earlier, Hermione tea was soon fit for consumption again.

But instead of taking the proffered drink immediately, Hermione could only stare blankly at the mug of steaming hot tea feeling an almost unaccountable sense of loss. It was not that Ron had thought to perform the same action for Rosaline and not her, but that he had _never_ done anything of the sort – in any universe.

Realising that she had remained silent for too long, Hermione filed that thought away for later and snapped herself back to the present. Gratefully accepting the tea she wrapped her palms around the mug so as to leach whatever warmth she could from the ceramic.

"Are you not going to ask then?" said Harry after what could have been just a few seconds or just as easily several minutes.

A frown pulled at Hermione's brow. "Sorry, what?" she answered, worried that she had missed something, Harry's statement seemingly unrelated to anything she recalled him saying in the last few minutes.

"I said, are you not going to ask then?" he repeated with a grin " … About tomorrow?" he added when it became obvious that she still wasn't following him.

Hermione's frown deepened as she mentally rewound their conversation in an attempt to follow his meaning, her eyes widening as she finally connected his statement to Rosaline's parting request. "Oh," she said feeling rather foolish. "Yeah, what was that Rosie wanted you to do tomorrow?"

Harry's grin grew ever wider. "Actually, it's something she wants you for," he corrected.

Not enjoying his obvious amusement at her befuddled state, Hermione set down her tea and folded her arms across her chest, her lips thinning to the smallest of lines.

Taking the hint, Harry elaborated. "Tomorrow's September nineteenth, Hermione."

Eyes widening in understanding, Hermione shook her head from side to side. "Oh no. No way, Harry. We can't go to my … _her_, birthday party!"

"Actually we can. Or rather, I think we should.

"You said it yourself, you don't want them asking too many questions, and being too busy to go to your own birthday party isn't going to achieve that – especially when I've already told them that our mission is a milk run."

Hermione dropped her chin slightly, her eyes darting from side to side as she tried to pick apart Harry's logic, but found that she was unable to do so. "Fine!" she retorted, "We'll go, but we'll only stay for a little while. Where is it anyway?"

"Can't say. It's a surprise," he replied, the same smug grin briefly making an appearance on his features before withering under the unimpressed glare that Hermione wore. "Okay, okay," he relented, "it's at five o'clock at the Burrow. But you've got to promise to look surprised; all I was supposed to tell you was to wear something nice and that I would pick you up at quarter to five.

"Talking of which, we really should get you home so that you can pick something out … Rosie said it should be something formal," he added with a shrug as if that meant nothing to him.

"But … but," stammered Hermione as Harry took her hand and all but pulled her too her feet.

"She also said I might have to take you shopping if you didn't have anything," continued Harry, apparently blinded to her protests by his attempts to recall everything he had been told.

Releasing her hand and using the same palm to direct her into the hearth by the small of her back, Harry reached for the pot of floo powder and held it out to her, his eyes finally meeting hers.

She wore an expression that was exasperated and amused in equal measures, her head cocked over to the side slightly. "Just one problem," she said with a similar smile to the one Harry had worn earlier. "Where do I live?"

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><strong>Author Musings -<strong> I've been desperately trying to get this chapter out quickly (less than a week since my last update on Better Never than Late...almost a record for me!) so that I could publish the party chapter on Hermione's 33rd birthday next week. No idea if I'll manage it, but wish me luck!

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><p><em><strong>Recap<strong>_

_**Chapter one -** Hermione finds herself addicted to the mirror of erised which taunts her with images of the thing she most desires._

_**Chapter two- **Harry and Ron race to find Hermione who is missing. They locate her moments too late and watch helplessly as Hermione is pulled into the mirror._

_**Chapter three -** Hermione travels through the multiverse, landing in the world where her heart's desire has come to pass._

_**Chapter four - **We learn that Hermione's desire is not, as we had been lead to believe, Harry, but instead her younger sister who died as an infant. In this world she is alive and well and engaged to Ron, a discovery that leads to Hermione running away._

_**Chapter five - **Hermione confesses the truth of her origins to Harry who promises to help her return home. In return, Hermione swears to help Harry find his own version of Hermione whom we learn he is in love with._

_**Chapter six -** We learn that Roslaine's survival in this universe has altered the timeline considerably. Perhaps most notably, Ginny Weasley was killed in the Chamber of Secrets in 1993 leading to Voldemort's __resurrection far earlier than in canon. The chapter concludes with the arrival of a furious looking Rosaline Granger. _


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N - **_I did it! I promised an update on Hermione's birthday and I actually managed to deliver. Ok, I've neglected my work, children and household chores to manage it, but I feel it was worth it. Besides, self sufficiency is an important life skill for a 2 and 6 year old to learn ) Oh, no time for a beta check this time guys, so any mistakes are all mine. And although it has been a quick turn around, I am still including the recap at the bottom of the page for those of us with CRS. _

_**Disclaimer** - I think we all know the drill by now. _

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

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><p>It was mid-afternoon when the chime indicating an incoming floo call sounded in Harry's London apartment. Directing the last item of his freshly laundered dress robes onto a neat pile on the coffee table with practised ease, Harry pocketed his wand and made his way over to the fireplace just in time to see the familiar face of his best friend appear, suspended in the flames.<p>

"Hello? Harry?"

"I'm here Hermione," he said, depositing himself onto the ottoman he kept near the fireplace to make floo calls a more comfortable affair.

"Thank God. Do you think we've still got time for that shopping trip? I ... I mean _she_ doesn't have anything even remotely suitable in her wardrobe for me to wear."

She had obviously just stepped from the shower, a couple of lose ringlets of hair falling from the towel that was wrapped above her head, framing her delicate features in such a manner that it made Harry's heart physically ache for her.

Fighting the urge to reach a hand directly into the flames so as to tuck those curls behind her ears, Harry said, "I can be there in a minute."

"Thank you, Harry."

Her visage promptly disappeared from the flames, and, for a long moment, Harry simply stared at the spot that her image had been magical projected before finally managing to rouse himself through sheer force of will. He stood up, scrubbed a hand over his unshaven chin and muttered something about 'dangerous thoughts'. After all, no matter how much this woman looked, sounded, and, _damn it, _even smelled like the Hermione Granger he knew, this was not the woman he loved. That Hermione Granger was Merlin knew where, and the only way he was going to get her back was to not lose focus on the task at hand; a task he knew that this iteration of his best friend was just as eager to conclude so that she could return to her own life. He just needed to get through this party first.

Deciding that a quick shower and a shave would give Hermione a chance to pull some clothes on, he made his way towards his bathroom, stopping only briefly at the open doorway to send his dress robes soaring across the room and into a waiting suit bag he had hooked onto one of the kitchen cabinets.

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><p>A quarter of an hour later, Harry appeared almost soundlessly in the centre of Hogsmeade's busy high street having elected to apparate and not floo to Hermione's flat for fear of coating his dress robes in a layer of soot, such was his proficiency, or lack thereof, with regards to that particular mode of wizard transportation.<p>

Being a warm, sunny, Sunday afternoon, the streets were crowded with students, teachers and patrons alike, and his appearance duly generated a few double takes amongst the more impressionable youngsters accompanied by a fair few shouted greetings from friends and acquaintances alike.

Acknowledging them all with a bob of is head and a cheerful wave, Harry allowed his feet to carry him the short and familiar walk to the flat Hermione rented, his dress robes casually draped over his shoulder and hooked on the index and middle fingers of his right hand.

He rounded a slight curve in the town's main thoroughfare and allowed himself a soft smile as Tomes and Scrolls, Hogsmeade's bookstore, came into view. As he had explained to a delighted Hermione when he had returned her here the previous evening, as Hogwarts transfiguration teacher, she did have designated quarters up at the school, however, purely for reasons of personal choice, her alter ego had chosen to lease the small flat over the bookstore instead. His smile broadened as he surmised that this Hermione might have easily spent the entire morning perusing the many rare books the store had to offer - it would certainly explain why she was only now coming to the realisation that she had nothing to wear.

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed that his feet had brought him to a halt at the entrance of the bay fronted shop. He gave himself a little shake and gently pushed the door aside, a soft tinkling sounding somewhere in the depths of the shop as he did so. He knew that he could have used the side entrance and avoided the crowded store altogether, but, having known Hermione as long as he had, he knew he had at least an equal chance of finding her browsing the shelves as he would of finding her in her lodgings upstairs. Giving the aisles a cursory scan but finding no trace of her, he quickly covered the space to the narrow staircase at the rear of the store, greeting the clerk, a balding wizard with a weak chin that he knew by sight but not by name, with a curt nod.

Taking the steps two at a time, he was soon standing at the simple wooden door to her apartment with his free hand poised to knock. "Hermione?" he called, rapping his knuckles on the door.

A muffled, but unintelligible reply sounded from within, the click of the lock providing him with enough context to suggest he had been invited inside; a theory that was proven to be correct as the door swung open of its own accord a moment later.

"Hermione?" he repeated taking half a sep inside.

"I'm in here," came Hermione's voice from the partially open door that he knew lead to the flat's only bedroom.

Harry grinned. Although he had been thoroughly immersed in the wizarding world for very nearly fifteen years now, the fact that someone could both unlock and open and door from another room using only their mind and a wand never failed to delight him.

Kicking the door closed behind him with his heel, Harry tossed his dress robes over the back of the two person sofa in the centre of the modest living room and placed the small box he had also brought with him on top.

With the door now closed and the rumble of conversations from the floor below correspondingly quieted, Harry could now hear an unfamiliar sound that took him a moment to place: that of a howling gale. "Hermione? Are you alright in there?" he asked, moving over to her room. He tapped his knuckles gently against the door, the action proving sufficient to push it further aside providing him with a view of the interior.

Hermione was bent double, the pastel coloured, button down cardigan she wore doing very little to cover the white knickers that made up the only other part of her ensemble as she attempted to dry her still damp hair with a jet of hot air issuing from her wand tip.

Harry felt his cheeks burn. Stammering an apology, he tried to back out of the room, but succeeded only in colliding painfully with the door frame. "Ow!" he exclaimed, massaging the back of his skull vigorously.

The commotion drew Hermione's attention and she righted herself, tossed her wand onto the bed and turned to face him. "Oh, Harry," she said closing the space between them in a couple of strides, "I'm perfectly decent," she added, intuitively understanding the cause of his accident (although Harry couldn't fail to notice that she self consciously pulled at the hem of her cardigan so that her underwear was hidden from sight, albeit just barely).

Forcing his gaze anywhere else other than her thighs, Harry tried to excuse himself again. "I'll - I'll just wait outside," he stuttered, hating how flustered he sounded.

Hermione waved the suggestion away. "Here," she said, "let me see that.

Knowing better than to resist her ministrations, Harry tipped his head forward as her slender fingers combed through his hair in such a manner that he had to physically restrain himself from doing something wholly inappropriate.

"You'll live," she said after a moment, gently smoothing his ruffled hair back down.

"Honestly, Hermione," he began again, thankful at least that he no longer sounded like a twelve year old with a crush. "I didn't mean to barge in like that, but the door was open and - "

"I told you not to worry about it," Hermione interrupted. "We're both adults, and it's not like you saw anything you shouldn't have ... you are very sweet though," she added as something of an afterthought and brushed her fingertips along his cheek affectionately as she moved back past him and retrieved her wand from her neatly made bed, presumably with the intention of returning to her task.

As if momentarily stupefied, Harry stood frozen in place, his right hand hovering mere millimetres from the spot she had touched his cheek, his words of gratitude caught somewhere between his throat and his lips. Realising he probably looked like some sort of ridiculous statue, he shook himself from his stupor and forced his lips into action. "So what's this about not having anything to wear?" he asked in what he hoped was his normal tone of voice.

A very un-Hermione like sound of frustration slipped past her lips by way of response. "There's nothing here I can wear," and she gestured towards the open door of the rooms only closet which Harry could see housed countless, no doubt very practical, but largely uninspiring outfits.

Hermione - _his _Hermione- had largely shunned the limelight in the aftermath of the war, and as such, most of her clothing favoured a certain degree of anonymity over style, something that had only been exacerbated by her recent acceptance of a position on the school's staff.

"Hey, what about that?" he asked, his gaze drawn towards a splash of colour pushed right into a far corner of the cupboard.

Hermione followed his eye line and quickly pushed the other hangers aside with a metallic scrape which set Harry's teeth on edge. "This?" she asked pulling the pale blue gown off the rail. "I can't wear this, Harry. I wore it to the Yule ball!"

Harry drew his brows together. "Not here you didn't," he said, correctly surmising that here was another divergence between the two universes. "You remember I told you that you and Ron broke up during our fourth year?" Upon receiving a nod of confirmation, Harry continued, "Well that was less than a week before the ball. You were pretty heartbroken at the time and you ended up going home for Christmas that year. I didn't even know you'd bought a dress, but I'm certain that you've never worn it since," _I'd remember,_ he added silently.

"Oh," was all Hermione could manage by way of response as her eyes traced the graceful lines of the periwinkle dress. "Well then, this is - this is good," she added brightly a moment later. "I might have to make a few adjustments though," she mused aloud, noting that she was hardly the same size she had been as a fifteen year old.

"Perhaps I should just wait outside then," suggested Harry. "Let you try it on?"

By way of reply, Hermione offered him an _'if you would'_ smile, and he duly stepped over the threshold and pulled the door shut behind him.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, the door handle turned and Hermione emerged from her room wearing both the pale blue gown and a coy smile.<p>

"So..." she asked, "what do you think?"

For a long moment, Harry was too stunned to say anything and simply stared at her, his jaw hanging open at a peculiar angle. Barefoot, and standing on tip-toes to ensure that the hem of her dress did not drag along the floor, she had yet to apply any makeup, and her hair, although now thoroughly dried, remained un-styled and therefore rather bushy. Nevertheless, Harry thought she had never looked more beautiful.

"It's - It's awful isn't it?" said Hermione, her demure smile promptly disappearing as she mistook the meaning of Harry's silence. "I'll - I'll take it off - "

"No!" Harry nearly shouted as he sprang to his feet. "I mean," he corrected, lowering his voice to a more normal level, "you're - you're beautiful."

"Do you really think so?" she asked, directing her now once more beaming smile at the floor.

"I know so," he replied immediately, moving closer to her so that their bodies were almost touching. He cupped her under the chin and lifted her gaze to meet his, hoping that she would recognise the sincerity of his words. "But it still needs ... _something_," he added after a long moment gazing into the depths of her chocolate brown eyes.

Without further explanation, he moved back to the sofa where he had been seated just a few seconds earlier and retrieved a plain white box roughly the size of his palm. "Happy Birthday, Hermione."

Now it was Hermione's turn to looked stunned as he moved back across to her, gently cajoling her fingers to open so that he could place the gift on her palm. "You didn't need to get me anything."

Harry shrugged. "I wanted to. Go ahead, open it."

Such was his expression of child-like eagerness, Hermione found it impossible to refuse his request, and she duly started to pick carefully at the invisible glue that bound the thick, red ribbon to the box.

"You know you're allowed to rip it off, right?"

So familiar was Harry's complaint (his alter ego said much the same to her every year), Hermione couldn't help but smile broadly as she picked at the wrappings even more deliberately, knowing just how much it frustrated him.

However, even working as slowly as was physically possible, soon enough, she had undone the bow, removed the ribbon and was now wriggling the lid of the box upwards. With a final shimmy, the lid came free, her breath catching in her throat as she laid eyes on Harry's gift.

Inside was a silver bib necklace, made up of dozens of tiny, leaf shaped crystals that sparkled in the dappled light of the early autumn sunshine that poured through her apartment's window.

"Oh Harry," she said breathlessly, "This is - this is too much."

"Nonsense," replied Harry. "If I can't buy something nice for my best friend, then - "

Hermione interrupted him, the words spilling from her tongue before she could so much as register that she had spoken. "But I'm not your - "

"Nonsense," repeated Harry, cutting across her and waving away her statement. "You're every bit as much my best friend as she is," he continued, correctly surmising the remainder of Hermione's previous sentence. "After all, as far as I can tell, you're nigh on identical ... except perhaps you're even slower than she is at unwrapping presents!"

Allowing her no time to formulate a suitably glib remark, Harry reached into the box and carefully removed the necklace which Hermione could now see also sported three, almost colourless, tear drop shaped gem stones.

"They're white sapphires," Harry supplied, having followed her eye line. "Very rare. They're your - "

" - My birthstone," finished Hermione.

Harry grinned. It figured that her encyclopaedic knowledge would extend beyond the magical world. "I just hope you like it," he continued, unclasping the chain and moving behind her. "I didn't know what you already had, you know?"

Accepting his wordless offer to assist her in trying on the necklace, Hermione took hold of her hair in a rough ponytail and moved it aside, able to do nothing more than nod in response to his previous statement, knowing that he could have no way of knowing that she owned nothing as beautiful as the silver chain currently being draped around her neck. _Ron has never bought me anything like this, _she thought, recalling the carriage clock in her office and the countless other thoughtful, but generally practical gifts her husband had bought her over the years.

"There!" Harry proclaimed several moments later when he finally succeeded in his endeavour to connect the two halves of the chain after several clumsy and unsuccessful earlier attempts. "What do you think?" he added, holding out an arm towards the full length mirror by the door in an obvious invitation to take a look.

Taking her cue, Hermione tip-toed across the room and regarded her reflection. The dress was as beautiful as she remembered, but the glittering necklace around her neck made it even more so, the not quite clear sapphires beautifully complementing the periwinkle colour of her gown.

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed turning on the spot and throwing herself into his arms. "It's the most beautiful, thoughtful present anyone's ever bought me."

Recovering from her unexpectedly joyous reaction, Harry returned her embrace somewhat stiffly as he fought the desire to press a kiss to her rose coloured lips, the scent of her shampoo very nearly proving his undoing. "You're - you're welcome," he replied after what he hoped hadn't been too long a pause.

Apparently unmindful of his inner struggles, Hermione pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek before releasing him and returning to admiring her reflection in the mirror. "Now I just need to find a pair of shoes I can transfigure to go with this, and an industrial sized pot of sleekeasy," she said, making a fruitless attempt to smooth her unruly curls with the palms of her hands.

"I'll pop down to Kropps and Bobbers," said Harry referring to the village hair salon, thankful for an excuse to get some air. "They're bound to have some."

"Hurry back," replied Hermione. "Last time I wore this dress it took me three hours to do my hair!"

* * *

><p>With two pairs of hands to manipulate the countless hair clips and grips she needed to force her hair into some semblance of order, Hermione was ready in half that time. She pulled her wand from the clutch bag she had found and transfigured to match her outfit and briefly deactivated her flat's anti-apparition wards, before slipping it back into her bag and taking Harry's proffered hand.<p>

"You look very nice too, Harry," she said remembering she had yet to compliment him on his own attire.

"Have to," he joked. "Can't have the most beautiful girl there turning up on the arm of someone who looks like their Great Aunt Bessie."

Hermione giggled recalling the truly awful dress robes her husband had once worn; an event that had evidently been recreated in this universe.

"Ready?"

In response to her nod of agreement, Hermione felt the familiar crush of apparition before being released within sight of the achingly familiar building that was to be the location for her birthday party: The Burrow.

"Ready?" repeated Harry, perhaps sensing her slight hesitation at his side.

"It's just going to very strange," she replied honestly. "I've always been welcome at the Weasley's - long before I was anything more than just Ron's school friend," she added. "But not being one of the family this time is going to be … well it's going to be - "

" - Strange," supplied Harry.

Hermione nodded again, unable to think of a more suitable adjective that the one that had first come to mind.

"Well then it's a good job your sister had a somewhat more grandiose plan for your birthday celebration then, isn't it?"

Without further explanation, Harry offered her the crook of his arm, which she accepted, and guided her, not towards the house, but the large garden at the rear of the property.

As they rounded the ramshackle building, Hermione caught sight of a path of tiny glowing orbs of light leading through the usually overgrown garden. Following the trail with her eyes, she came to an abrupt halt as she saw a familiar white marquee - undoubtably their destination - standing in the Weasley's private orchard.

"You didn't think Rosie would make us all dress like the queen was coming for tea without having a suitable venue, did you?" teased Harry at her side, coaxing her into movement again by placing his palm on the small of her back.

"They shouldn't have gone to so much trouble," she replied. "I remember how much work it took to get everything ready for Bill and Fleur's wedding, I wouldn't like to think - "

"Sorry?" interrupted Harry as their crunching footsteps fell silent as they stepped from the firm surface of the yard and onto the spongy grass of the garden, "Bill and who's wedding?"

"Fleur," she repeated, Harry's blank expression compelling her to add, "Fleur Delacour ... You competed against her in the triwizard championship."

Now it was Harry's turn to stop abruptly "I did what?" he asked.

A wry grin pulled at the corners of Hermione's lips. "I think I'm going to have to give up trying to keep track of how much is different between our two worlds," she said before launching into an explanation of her Harry's fourth year, whilst simultaneously noting that, with Voldemort already resurrected in this reality, there would have been no need to lure Harry into the elaborate trap that the triwizard championship eventually proved to be.

By the time she had finished her abridge version of the events of that year, they had almost reached the marquee, the gentle melody of a live band, along with the murmur of countless voices floating towards them on the breeze.

Deftly releasing her hand from the crook of his arm just as they arrived at the entrance, Harry held back a pace or two so as to allow Hermione to enter alone.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Had the sudden realisation that her escort had fallen behind not been enough to stop her in her tracks, the sheer volume of her enthusiastic greeting certainly was.

Hermione took in the faces of all the people that had come to celebrate the anniversary of her birth, amongst them, many that she loved, and, in some cases, had lost: Rosaline wearing an elegant backless dress, Sirius looking happier and healthier than she had ever known him in life, George Weasley _and_ his brother Fred, but, perhaps best of all, her parents.

Although she had returned their memories to them immediately after the war, neither her mother nor her father had been particularly pleased with her actions in excluding them from the decision making process. Accordingly, although they had returned with her to England thereafter, their relationship had always been rather strained ever since. Yet here they stood, beaming at her, the events of this world seemingly having never lead her to take such drastic action to keep them from harm.

Careful not to trip in her too-high heels, she covered the space between them as quickly as she was able and pulled them both into a fierce hug, her eyes swimming with tears of happiness as Rosaline joined their embrace, the assembled crowd applauded thunderously.

* * *

><p>Although she had been intent on only staying for a short while, by the time Hermione noticed just how late it had gotten, the sun had long since set and the drinks were flowing freely.<p>

She wasn't drunk, but neither was she stone cold sober and she wished she had been able to eat a little more of the food that her sister had organised to off set the effect of the alcohol. However, having been unable to extract herself from the hoard of well wishers for more than a few seconds all evening she had only managed to bolt down a couple of Hors d'oeuvre since lunch.

As was often the case when she drank a little too much wine, Hermione found herself in a reflective mood as the night drew to a close, and, although the party could only be described as a roaring success, she could not help but feel slightly forlorn as she watched the frivolity play out on the dance floor before her. Possibly because she knew it wasn't really for her, but perhaps also because it reminded her of what she had lost.

In the centre of the dance floor Ron and her sister were dancing to a rather upbeat song that she didn't recognise, the only thing more frantic than Ron's wild dance moves that of the musicians fingers on their instruments. Rosaline was attempting to keep pace with her fiancé, but so much did he resemble a lanky, uncoordinated Orang-utan in his moves that she was laughing so hard it was nigh on impossible for her.

In another time and place Hermione knew she might have found the sight just as amusing as her sister evidently did, but, with the realisation that she could not recall a single occasion where her husband had ever been so joyously uninhibited around her, she could only feel a deep sense of sadness.

"Come on, birthday girl," came a familiar voice from behind. "We can't have you moping on the sidelines."

"I'm really not in the mood, Harry," she protested as he steered her towards the dance floor by her elbow.

"Oh no, you're not worming out of this, Granger," he teased. "You've been promising me a dance all night."

Recognising that Harry was hell bent on cheering her up and had no intention of taking no for an answer, Hermione relented and allowed herself to be guided into the centre of the room. However, just as they reached the middle of the space the song reached a rather abrupt crescendo and the band struck up a far slower tune in its stead.

Aside from Fred and George, who continued to gyrate madly as if the music hadn't so much as missed a beat, the remaining guests who weren't part of a couple moved away to the sides, whilst those who were moved closer to one another.

Flushing furiously, Hermione made to flee, but was pulled up short as Harry caught her gently by the wrist. "Just one dance," he said.

Something about his words, phrased somewhere between a plea and a request, made Hermione reconsider and she allowed him to pull her close, the ever rational part of her mind searching for an explanation as to why she felt none of the awkwardness she had come to associate with her interactions with this realities version of her best friend at this moment. _The Forest of Dean,_ offered her inner voice after a moments consideration, her conscious mind quickly making the link to another dance, in another time, in a different world.

Then as now, Harry had been trying to lift her spirits, but as they turned slowly on the spot, her cheek pressed against his collar so that his scent filled her nostrils, she discovered that all of the feelings she had buried deep within her after that first dance were resurfacing.

Whether it was the wine, or the same desperate need to feel a connection to someone she was sure they had both experienced during that dark time in their lives so long ago, Hermione found her eyes drawn once more to his lips, the question of what it would feel like to kiss them pushing itself to the surface of her thoughts for the first time in a very long while. _Perhaps it's time you found out, _suggested her inner voice in the same persuasive tone in had used that yule.

Then, it had been the thought of Ron which had given her the strength to pull away, however, as irrational as she knew it to be, watching her husband's alternate self swaying to the music just a few feet away, his arms snaked around her sister's waist pushed those moral objections aside.

Harry's lips drew her attention for a second time and she found that they now seemed to hold an almost magnetic thrall on her, and she lifted her lips towards his.

Lifting herself on to tips-toes so that they were almost the same height, Hermione felt a flight of butterflies form in her chest as her brown eyes met green, Harry's gaze ablaze with the same look of longing she recalled from the forest causing her to briefly wonder whether her counterpart had ever shared a similar moment with him.

She allowed her gaze to slip to his mouth for a third and final time before she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his, holding herself there for a moment as she attempted to commit the sensation to memory. They were softer than she had imagined they might be and for that one moment the party seemed to fall silent, only the sound of her pounding heart filling her ears.

How long they stayed like that she could not say, but as she made to pull away she felt Harry's lips move against hers slightly. The last of her inhibitions melted away, and, unable to control herself any longer, Hermione opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, her hands flying to his face.

Replying in kind, Harry used his hold on her waist to pull her closer to him whilst his other hand found its way into her hair.

Knowing that they were getting carried away, but equally not caring, Hermione moaned against his lips as his tongue delved past hers. If they didn't stop now...

There was a loud, shrill whistle and a shout of, "Way to go Harry!"

Breathless, both Hermione and Harry sprang apart as if suddenly magnetically opposed to one another, Hermione feeling both grateful and mortified in equal measures that Fred's cheer, accompanied by George's wolf whistle, had intruded into their moment.

Either by design or else interrupted by the commotion, the music had stopped and all eyes now swung towards Harry and Hermione standing slightly apart from one another but still looking directly into each other's eyes.

"Oh god!"

"Hermione, I'm – I'm so sorry - "

But Hermione wasn't listening. With the memory of the kiss already dissipating and her cheeks burning crimson from all the unwanted attention she had only one desire: _escape_. She snapped open her clutch bag and grabbed her wand.

"Hermione, no!" said Harry understanding her intentions. "We need to talk about this – please,"

He reached for her wrist, but, before his hand had covered so much as half the distance between them, Hermione had disappeared with a far louder crack than was her norm, leaving Harry, and the other partygoers in stunned silence.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Author Musings<strong> - _HARMONY! Sort of. I know some of you have been getting antsy waiting for Hermione to forget about Ron and live happily ever after with Harry, so I hope this will serve to tide you all over for now. I think it is important to remember, that although we are now eight chapters in, Hermione has spent just a day and a half in this new world. Having her move on from Ron in such a short span of time would be OOC in the extreme. _

_I was also very pleased to have the chance to write something from Harry's POV in this chapter - hopefully I was able to reflect his confusion over his feelings towards both Hermione's successfully._

_I hope that you are still enjoying the direction I've decided to go in. Comments are, as always, very gladly received. It's a fanfic writers only reward after all. _

_My next update will be on Better Never than Late, so I would ask your patience. _

* * *

><p><em><strong>Recap<strong>_

_**Chapter one -** Hermione finds herself addicted to the mirror of erised which taunts her with images of the thing she most desires._

_**Chapter two- **Harry and Ron race to find Hermione who is missing. They locate her moments too late and watch helplessly as Hermione is pulled into the mirror._

_**Chapter three -** Hermione travels through the multiverse, landing in the world where her heart's desire has come to pass._

_**Chapter four - **We learn that Hermione's desire is not, as we had been lead to believe, Harry, but instead her younger sister who died as an infant. In this world she is alive and well and engaged to Ron, a discovery that leads to Hermione running away._

_**Chapter five - **Hermione confesses the truth of her origins to Harry who promises to help her return home. In return, Hermione swears to help Harry find his own version of Hermione whom we learn he is in love with._

_**Chapter six -** We learn that Roslaine's survival in this universe has altered the timeline considerably. Perhaps most notably, Ginny Weasley was killed in the Chamber of Secrets in 1993 leading to Voldemort's __resurrection far earlier than in canon. The chapter concludes with the arrival of a furious looking Rosaline Granger._

_**Chapter Seven** - Rosaline's anger with Harry is quickly abated when Ron arrives and __interrupts their prank. Harry reveals a little of the plan that will occupy his and Hermione's time with Rosaline reminding him of the surprise party she had organised for Hermione for the next day. _


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N - _**_Check out my bad self. Two updates in a week (No one is allowed to point out that they are on different stories, ok?). My customary recap is at the bottom of the page people._

_**Disclaimer - **__Ret topyr rahfo gniht onn woi ;)_

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**By Witherwings**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>

* * *

><p>Harry appeared on a windswept cliff, the salt air both stinging and refreshing as it filled his lungs. With no natural light to speak of - the young moon was but a thin crescent - he lit his wand and stumbled along the rocky path towards the small, single story cottage he knew lay somewhere ahead of him in the darkness, the strong wind whipping his long hair against his cheeks as his thoughts returned to the events of that evening.<p>

He had kissed her.

He had actually kissed her, and it had been everything he had hoped it would be and more.

The softness of her lips as they brushed his for the first time: a little uncertain - halting even - yet full of passion and an unspoken promise of more. The intoxicating scent of her hair which still lingered on his clothes. The memory of the curve of her hip under his hand as she moulded herself against his body. It was the single most perfect moment of his entire existence.

So why then, when everything he had ever dreamt of had finally come to pass, was this the worst night of his life?

_Because it was a kiss she should never have given you._

Having replayed the moment a thousand times or more, Harry was certain of just one thing: he had not misread the signs. The way her eyes had been drawn to his lips, the heavy lashes that fell as she moved closer - she had most definitely wanted to kiss him.

Nevertheless he should not have reciprocated. She was vulnerable; separated from everything and everyone she had ever known or cared about (not to mention married to another man), and he should have had the strength to pull away no matter how much he desired what she appeared to be offering. In short he had taken advantage of her and he hated himself for it.

Perhaps in a less public setting, it was possible that they could have laughed off the kiss that should have never been as nothing more than a terrible mistake; an inebriated moment of madness, never to be repeated ...

An angry growl born of frustration and deepest self loathing escaped his lips, interrupting the lie his subconscious had been fabricating.

_Who am I kidding? _he thought as he pushed a hand roughly through his hair in an effort control his urge to lash out at something with his fists. Were it not for that oh so public of locations, he knew with absolute certainty that they would not have stopped at a single kiss, the disgust he felt toward himself right now would have paled into insignificance had they actually slept together.

Noting the sudden crunch beneath his shoes, Harry realised he must have crossed the property line of the building he sought, the rutted, cliff top path giving way to a level surface of compacted gravel.

In the moments immediately following Hermione's abrupt departure it had been decided (although Harry could not honestly say by whom) that they should split up and search for her. Amongst the several places mooted as the distressed Hermione's most likely destinations, Ron had chosen to check her apartment, Rosaline, the banks of the Great Lake at Hogwarts, whilst Harry had elected to come here to this deserted hillside near the Dorset coast in search of the woman he had so wronged.

"Hermione?" he called out in the darkness, uncertain if he even wanted a reply – what could he possibly say to make this right?

When his only reply came in the form of the distant sounds of the waves crashing against the stony beach far below, he shouted her name again but his words were lost almost immediately, carried away by the strong winds pushing in from the English Channel.

It was then that his wand light finally fell upon the whitewashed, slightly curving walls of the quaint little cottage, the luminescent glow guiding him towards the dark rectangle that could only be the building's only entrance.

Harry knew that the owners of Umbrella Cottage (so named for the outward similarities of its thatched roof to the muggle invention of the same name) were refurbishing, so it came as no surprise to see the old wooden door, visibly warped, its paint peeling in the saline air, lying discarded a few feet from the empty doorway.

Certain that, in its place, there would surely be some sort of protective enchantments to keep the house safe, weather tight and free from the local wildlife for the duration of the renovations, Harry did not immediately enter the property. However, equally aware that such commonplace magical protections were little more than an inconvenience for a witch as gifted as Hermione Granger, he did run a quick test with his wand and was rewarded with a kaleidoscope of colours, each splash of colour representing one of the charms used. Several showed recent evidence of tampering, their hues having shifted from cool blues or greens to angry oranges or reds where their defenses had proved inadequate.

"Hermione?" he called again as he easily bested the wards and stepped straight into the circular living room, the roar of the wind immediately lessening. _A reasonably powerful Muffliato charm_, he reasoned.

At that moment a light flicked on in a room at the rear of the property - the bedroom if he recalled correctly. "I'm here, Harry."

Covering the empty space quickly, Harry pushed the thin sheet of plastic – evidently a makeshift barrier against the dust – aside, his gaze falling on the forlorn form of his best friend, resplendent in her pale blue gown, standing at the room's only window, her necklace of white sapphires glittering in the weak slant of moonlight.

She stood with her back to him, her eyes fixed on some point far out to sea, arms wrapped around herself in manner that spoke of her need for comfort as much as it did her need for warmth.

Without saying a word, Harry slipped out of his jacket and carefully arranged it around Hermione's slender shoulders, that action finally stirring her enough to turn around.

"How did you find me?"

There were no accusations in her tone, no reprisals, and Harry allowed himself a brief flicker of hope that he could mend what he had broken.

"You've always loved this place," he answered in response to her question. "I mean, my Hermione has anyway. Seeing as neither of us had anyone special in our lives," _no one attainable at any rate, _amended Harry silently, "we've taken to holidaying together. The last three years we've come here. Don't ask me why though," he added quickly, "It didn't look much better when it _wasn't _a building site, but I guess there must have been something about it ... you've – _she's _– often talked about buying it."

Hermione was silent for a long moment, the now distant roar of the wind the only sound in Harry's ears.

When she finally spoke, it was in a small, quiet voice. "I did," she said. "Ron and I bought it the summer before we got married. I've never seen it quite like this though," she added, her nose crinkling in that way he so loved as she ran a finger through the thick dust on the windowsill.

_Dammit! _he thought, recognising the inappropriateness of those feelings. _Why does she have to be __so like her? She's a married woman, _he reminded himself – a thought never far from the forefront of his mind anyway – and he pushed his feeling of attraction towards her deep within himself by sheer force of will.

Knowing he had to make things right, but without any clue as to what he might say to explain his actions, Harry parted his lips, but was saved from having to invent something as it was Hermione who spoke first.

"I think we need to talk what happened at the party tonight, Harry," she said, her tone rather formal. "I'm sure you don't want any awkwardness between us anymore than I do."

In spite of himself, a slight smile creased his features as he nodded his agreement. It was so like Hermione to want to rationally examine the facts and then clear the air as quickly as possible.

She moved carefully around him, the same plastic sheeting that covered the doorway rustling beneath her as she settled onto the edge of the bed. As if stealing herself for what she had to say next, Hermione took a deep breath. "I owe you an apology," she said at length, her eyes glued to her hands wringing in her lap. "I don't know what came over me but I should never have kissed you. I - I'm sorry."

Of all the things she could have said at that moment, this was perhaps the last thing Harry had expected to hear."_You're _sorry?" he said, unable to hide the bewilderment in his tone as he sank onto the bed next to her (albeit somewhat further away from her than would have been his norm).

Hermione bobbed her head in confirmation, her gaze still averted. "The fault was mine. I instigated it."

Deep within him, a tiny fragment of Harry's mind wanted to celebrate - he had been absolved of any blame - but he quickly squelched that nascent thought recognising that it took two to tango. He said as much aloud.

"Perhaps," acceded Hermione, "but I'm a married woman and I knew exactly how you felt about me," she continued, knowing full well that Harry would understand that she spoke of his feelings towards the Hermione Granger of this universe, "yet I still did it. It was a mistake, Harry. A terrible, terrible mistake and I'm sorry."

"It's forgotten," Harry lied. He wanted to make her feel better, but knew he would never be able to erase the memory of her lips on his - if this were to be the only kiss he would ever share with the woman he had loved for longer than he could remember, he wanted to hold onto it forever. "We were both a little tipsy and I can't even begin to image how stressful these last couple of days have been for you."

"It has been difficult to adapt," she accepted, finally lifting her gaze to meet his, her brown eyes shimmering with tears just barely held in check. "Tonight even more so – seeing all those people there, but knowing that they really weren't there for me … "

Her words trailed away and Harry felt a renewed wave of guilt gnaw at his insides. "And I should have been a better friend," he said. "I'm supposed to be helping you get home and I go and do something stupid like this! I feel like I've taken advantage of you."

"Don't be silly, Harry," she retorted. "Like you said, we'd both had a little too much to drink and … well, it was a mistake," she repeated, her gaze slipping towards her shoes once more.

Harry cupped her under the chin and and guided her gaze upwards once more as he arranged his features into a lopsided smile that felt almost natural. "Like I said, it's forgotten."

Hermione manage a wan smile. "Thank you, Harry."

Recognising that they had reached something of an accord, Harry pushed himself to his feet and offered her his hand. "Come on," he said."It's freezing in here. We should let everyone know that you're safe and then get you home.

"After all," he added mischievously, "you've got a busy day tomorrow."

Accepting his proffered hand, Hermione's brow pinched into a frown; she was unaware of anything on her agenda for the following day.

Harry grinned, the first genuine smile to grace his lips since he had found her. "Hogwarts will probably miss their transfiguration teacher if you don't turn up," he teased, his none-too-subtle reminder of her position in this world sending Hermione's eyes wide in commingled surprise and worry.

She was going back to school.

* * *

><p>Hermione couldn't deny it: she was enjoying herself.<p>

Why she had never considered becoming a teacher in her own universe when she was clearly so well suited towards the calling she could not say, but, having spent the day imparting some of her considerable knowledge to the next generation of young witches and wizards, she could honestly say that she had not had such a fulfilling day at work in a long time.

The only blot on her otherwise perfect day, she reflected as she moved about her class of fourth years quietly, was that, in those quiet moments when her students bent to whatever task she had assigned, her mind kept revisiting the events of the previous evening.

She had kissed Harry, and as much as she wanted to force the memory of that moment into the nice neat little box in her head marked 'the stupid things that alcohol has made me do' and move on, the analytical part of her mind refused to accept that explanation, the question of why forcing itself to the surface of her thoughts more and more frequently.

_Because I had a little too much to drink, _she insisted as she paused to adjust a student's wand grip as he tried, unsuccessfully thus far, to vanish a snail.

"Evanesco," she enunciated clearly, offering the boy an encouraging smile.

_But you weren't drunk, _countered her inner voice as she moved away. _A little tipsy perhaps, but not so much that your weren't in possession of your faculties. You wanted to kiss him, didn't you?_

Thankful for the distraction it offered from her bothersome conscience, Hermione came to a stop next to a young girl whom she would have recognised as the younger sister of her assistant back home even without the benefit of the class register. The young blonde had successfully managed to make her own snail completely invisible.

Calling for the attention of the class, she announced, "Five points to Ravenclaw, Miss Kogan," and was gratified by the broad smile which blossomed into existence on the teenager's face in response.

"And that's it for today," she added over the din of the bell which denoted the end of classes for that day. "Make sure to read ahead to page three hundred and ninety four in your textbooks … "

Hermione's words trailed away as she registered the sudden surge of excited whispering that indicated she no longer had the full attention of her class. Following her students somewhat less than furtive glances towards the door at the rear of the transfiguration classroom, she soon saw the reason for the commotion.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, hating the breathless quality her voice carried almost as much as the way her cheeks burned and her heart performed a drum roll against her ribs the moment she laid eyes on him. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

There was no point denying it, with his boyish grin, striking auror robes and his messy, jet black hair, he did look particularly handsome today. But why then, she wondered, when she had know objectively for many years that her best friend was hardly unattractive, was this affecting her so inherently now?

_Because Ron doesn't take your breath away like that, _put in her inner voice snidely.

_That's different, _she protested, _Ron and I have been together for a long time. It's only natural for the spark to have faded a little; it doesn't mean that what we have is any less special._

_If you say so._

Filling that argument away for future consideration, Hermione's sense of propriety finally kicked in. "Don't stare at Auror Potter, class," she instructed firmly and the chatter died away instantaneously.

Making a show of organising the files on her desk, Hermione turned her back and dismissed the class, the sounds of thirty or so Ravenclaw and Slytherin students shuffling past Harry and out of the classroom reaching her ears as she tried to compartmentalise her feelings and allow the heat that had risen into her cheeks to fade.

"Enjoying your first day, Professor?" quipped Harry once the last of the students were out of earshot.

"Actually, yes," she replied, grateful that her voice had return to its more usual timbre. "What are you doing here?" she added, turning to face him and perching herself on the edge of the teachers' desk. "I thought we had agreed to meet at my place this evening."

"Just wanted to bring you up to speed on what I've found out," he replied, matching her stance against one of the desks in the front row.

Hermione nodded her understanding; before they had gone their separate ways the previous evening, Harry had promised her that he would spend the day attempting to correlate the intelligence she had provided him from her own universe to that of his own in an effort to pinpoint the likely location of the Mirror of Erised.

"Do you want to take a walk?" he asked, clearly hinting that he would rather discuss such sensitive information somewhere they were less likely to be overheard.

Agreeing to his suggestion without needing to speak, Hermione pushed herself to her feet and slipped her arm into the nook of Harry's before she could even consciously register what she had done - not that she hadn't done much the same thing countless times before, but for reasons she had yet to come to terms with, that action made her feel overly self-conscious in this new world and she worried that Harry would be able to feel just how fast her heart was beating being in such close proximity.

Mentally scolding herself, but knowing that it would create even more awkwardness between them should she remove her arm, the two former Gryffindors made their way in companionable silence through the familiar halls of the ancient castle until they were strolling down the deserted, sloping lawns towards the shoreline.

A chill breeze, a harbinger of the harsh and fast approaching Scottish winter, blew in from the lake and Hermione pressed herself closer to Harry's side in spite of herself as her skin turned to gooseflesh.

"I've checked the records from the last decade of seizures from the continent," Harry said at length, "but I haven't come up with anything as yet. I could go further back, but I think we are going to have to accept that it hasn't been found yet."

Hermione nodded. It was a logical assessment.

"I think for now we should continue to work under the assumption that it is still in Germany, and whilst there are reports of some former Death Eaters holed up on the continent, it would help if I could narrow things down a little, I don't suppose you remember anything else that could help us? A name? A location? Anything?"

Hermione was about to reply in the negative when a single word floated to the surface of her thoughts. "_Kaltenberg_." It had been written on the tag affixed to the mirror and several other artifacts in the seizure.

"I know it," said Harry once she had voiced it aloud, "not far from Hamburg. And you know," he added scratching at his chin thoughtfully, "I think I remember reading something about a missing muggle near the Danish border a few months back. Death Eater involvement was suspected, but the local auror department could never prove anything. It could be worth a look – the border can't be more than a hundred miles from Kaltenberg."

Wanting nothing less than to march out of the main gates and apparate there directly, Hermione forced herself to ask, "So what's our next move."

"Well, _you're _going to stay right here," replied Harry, quickly raising his free arm to forestall her protests. "Listen to me. Hermione's got a life here – responsibilities. She's gonna be pretty mad if we ever succeed in getting you both back to where you belong and you've managed to get her sacked by gallivanting all over Europe in term time on what could be nothing more than a wild Centaur hunt.

"If this turns out to be anything solid, I promise, you'll be the first to know, but for now, just let me check it out alone – it is my job to hunt down dark wizards after all."

Hermione nodded. As much as she hated to admit it, Harry was right.

"Ok. But I want to know everything … no matter how insignificant."

"Deal," agreed Harry.

Up at the castle, the sounds of several hundred distant voices now reached their ears.

"Dinner time," Hermione surmised glancing at her wrist watch for conformation. "I'd better go."

"Go," urged Harry with a grin, "I'll floo you if I find anything concrete."

Fighting the urge to press a quick kiss to his cheek, Hermione returned his smile, turned on her heel and made her way back up towards the castle completely unaware of how Harry's eyes had watched her every step of the way.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><strong>Author musings -<strong> I know a lot of people get annoyed when Harry and Hermione dance around their attraction to one another for chapter after chapter, but I feel it is appropriate in their current situation. Both are starting to recognise their feelings towards each other, but they can't make heads nor tails of them as yet.

Also, a huge thanks to Katesmom2 who returns in her role of beta for this chapter. *Happy dance*

Also, to all my American readers and friends, Happy Thanksgiving.

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><p><em><strong>Recap<strong>_

_**Chapter one -**__ Hermione finds herself addicted to the mirror of erised which taunts her with images of the thing she most desires._

_**Chapter two- **__Harry and Ron race to find Hermione who is missing. They locate her moments too late and watch helplessly as Hermione is pulled into the mirror._

_**Chapter three -**__ Hermione travels through the multiverse, landing in the world where her heart's desire has come to pass._

_**Chapter four - **__We learn that Hermione's desire is not, as we had been lead to believe, Harry, but instead her younger sister who died as an infant. In this world she is alive and well and engaged to Ron, a discovery that leads to Hermione running away._

_**Chapter five - **__Hermione confesses the truth of her origins to Harry who promises to help her return home. In return, Hermione swears to help Harry find his own version of Hermione whom we learn he is in love with._

_**Chapter six -**__ We learn that Roslaine's survival in this universe has altered the timeline considerably. Perhaps most notably, Ginny Weasley was killed in the Chamber of Secrets in 1993 leading to Voldemort's resurrection far earlier than in canon. The chapter concludes with the arrival of a furious looking Rosaline Granger._

_**Chapter Seven**__ - Rosaline's anger with Harry is quickly abated when Ron arrives and interrupts their prank. Harry reveals a little of the plan that will occupy his and Hermione's time with Rosaline reminding him of the surprise party she had organised for Hermione for the next day._

_**Chapter Eight -**__ Hermione and Harry attends a lavish Birthday party in her honour at the burrow where celebration turns into disaster. Caught up in the moment, Hermione wonders what it would be like to kiss her best friend, she and Harry sharing their first kiss on the crowded dance floor. Feeling as though she has just made a terrible mistake, Hermione flees the party leaving a guilt ridden Harry to face the music alone._


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N - **_For my precioussss. Happy Birthday. (My customary recap is at the foot of the page.)_

**Disclaimer - **_The world didn't end, I didn't keep my New Year resolution (to update faster) and I still don't own Potter._

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter ten<strong>

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><p><em>"Und hier haben wir die große höhle. Ein märchenland der stalaktiten und stalagmiten, in fantastischen formen und farben."<em>

The snippets Hermione gleamed from their tour guide's rapid-fire German told her that they were about to enter the main cavern; a wonderland, as the enthusiastic blonde described it,of stalactites and stalagmites.

_And she wasn't exaggerating, _she thought as her eyes were drawn inexorably upwards as she and Harry were shepherded through a small opening in the rocky tunnel along with the throng of tourists they were attempting to blend in with.

They emerged onto a narrow plateaux that projected a small distance into a vast space that could only be accurately described as an enormous underground gorge; one that would not have seemed out of place had it been described to her on the pages of one of the Tolkien novels she so adored as a child.

Huge stalactites threw jagged shadows against the domed ceiling high above her head, whilst the unmistakable sound of rushing water immediately drew her eyes in the opposite direction as it cascaded over the shelf of an underground waterfall on her left, the torrent quickly disappearing into the depths beneath their feet where neither the incessant flashing of camera bulbs, nor the flickering yellow lamps which illuminated the rocky outcrop on which they stood, seemed able to penetrate the darkness below them.

Their guide, who had introduced herself to the group as Jana König, continued to speak in the same animated fashion as she lead them towards a narrow, wooden bridge which spanned the gorge directly ahead of them. However, so quickly was she now speaking, Hermione found herself unable to translate more than one word in every dozen or so and therefore simply tuned her out as she allowed her intellect to mull over the as yet unanswered question of what they were doing in a show cave in northern Germany in the first place.

As if on cue, Harry whispered in her ear, "We're tourists, remember?"

Understanding his implication - namely that she was hardly doing an effective job at perpetrating their ruse of a young couple on holiday - Hermione scowled and half-heartedly pointed the disposable camera that Harry had purchased at the gift shop over her shoulder towards the waterfall and pressed the shutter as the group shuffled forwards en masse.

"And until you tell me exactly what it is we're doing here," she whispered back as the camera's flash was swallowed up by the vast cavern, "that's exactly what we are!"

Irritation laced her tone. Required to remain in her post at Hogwarts so as not to destroy the life her alternate self had built there, in the almost two weeks that had passed since Harry had departed for the continent, Hermione had been fighting against a growing sense of frustration at her inability to assist his investigations; a frustration that had only been amplified by his unexpected arrival in her apartment earlier that sleepy Saturdayafternoon insisting that she should accompany him to the Kaltenberg caves without any further explanation. He'd just had time to instruct her on their cover and to cast a few hasty glamour charms to disguise their true identities before he had all but dragged her back into the hearth and shouted their destination.

Using their conjoined hands to pull her to a stop (they were supposed to be a couple after all), Harry moved in closer until their chests were all but touching, his eyes fixed on hers. He brushed away a lock of her wild curls and slowly leant in, looking for all the world like the very model of a love struck Romeo completely oblivious to the crowd of people surrounding them.

After what felt like a millennia gazing up at those soft lips as they descended towards hers, and just as she sensed the last of the tour group shuffled pass, Harry altered course and his left cheek came to rest against hers causing her to suppressed a shiver, his warm breath playing across her neck as he spoke in a breathy whisper for her ears only.

He really was exceptionally good at undercover work, she noted absently. Even she had believed that he had eyes only for her.

"Sorry," he replied, his tone sincere, "but I had to move quickly. There just wasn't time to fill you in before you left. But trust me," he added, "this could be important."

Hermione nodded her acceptance of his apology, but her mind felt sluggish and dim-witted, his words in fact barely registering as her mind reeled with the realisation that she had been desperately disappointed that she had been denied the chance to experience the sensation of his lips on hers once more.

_It's just a crush, _she told herself sternly, repeating the almost mantra-like phrase for at least the hundredth time that week alone. _Even a married woman is allowed a harmless crush._

_Perhaps,_conceded her inner voice. _But is it really harmless when the object of that desire is your best friend?_

_But he's not my best friend,_she protested. _Not really._

_He's as good as..._

Hermione worried at her bottom lip as she found herself unable to refute that assertion. Different though this iteration of her best friend was, in truth, he was far more like the man she knew than not, and the strength of feeling she could no longer deny she felt towards him was beginning to scare her.

_Have I always been attracted to Harry? _she wondered, attempting to apply her rational mind to the problem as if it were any other challenge to be overcome.

_Well he's certainly not unattractive, _she answered silently.

_That's not what I asked._

_Fine! _Had she spoken aloud she thought it likely she would have stamped her foot petulantly. _Maybe when we're we younger I thought something might have happened between us but …_

_But?_

_But now he's got Ginny ... and I've got Ron, _she added.

_Ah! So Ron was second best? Attainable?_

_No no, that's not it at all, _Hermione protested. _I love Ron._

_How do you know? Had you ever been in love before you started dating?_

_Well no..._

_So how do you know? …_

Completely unprepared to handle the resultant conflict of emotions unearthed by that line of reasoning, Hermione silenced the inner argument and forced it into the deepest corner of her consciousness. She pulled back from Harry and forced herself to retake his hand without trembling as they set off in pursuit of the group shuffling across the bridge ahead of them whilst still maintaining a distance that allowed them to continue to converse in private.

"I figured that much myself," she said at length, pleased to note that her tone remained neutral despite the rapid thump of her heartbeat against her ribs as she recalled his sudden appearance in her apartment's floo less than an hour earlier. "But I thought you said you weren't making much progress?"

True to his word, Harry had owled her a report on his findings each and every day; but there was certainly nothing in any of those which suggested that he was anywhere near the kind of breakthrough that would warrant their unannounced trip to Germany.

"I wasn't," admitted Harry, releasing her hand again so that they could traverse the narrow bridge in single file. "But one of my leads - that unauthorised Erkling nest extermination I told you about - brought me here. It was less than a kilometre from where these caves let out."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "But that would have placed it within the protection radius," she said recalling the strict controls her N.E.W.T studies informed her that the German Ministry had placed on the creatures owing to their particular fondness for consuming human children. "The nest would have been relocated or destroyed anyway."

"Exactly!" Harry's freshly glamoured brown eyes twinkled with triumph. "A task that big would have brought half the Ministry down on the town."

Hermione's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "And if you were a group of former Death Eaters operating clandestinely in the area, you wouldn't want that...

"Although," she added, stringing out the single word in a manner that suggested she was thinking aloud before Harry could agree with her for a second time, "I'm not entirely sure that a muggle tourist attraction would be the most appealing place for them to set up a base - "

Harry had an answer for that. "The caves have only been open to the public for a few years," he said. "The Death Eaters might have cleared out years ago," _or they might have never been here at all_, he added silently, "but I thought it was worth a look ... Besides, it got you away from that stack of papers to grade, right?"

Hermione grinned; there was that.

Presumably triggered by unseen motion sensors, several more flickering yellow lamps spluttered into life as the group stepped off the bridge and onto a narrow, downward slopping staircase hewn into the very rock itself, the stuttering quality of the light on offer surely designed for effect rather than visibility.

Nevertheless, even in the flickering glow, Hermione could see that the cave system was easily twice as large as she had previously guesstimated, for whilst the stone steps only descended for another twenty feet or so to where it met a smooth floor of the same off-white rock that made up the rest of the karst, she could also see that centuries of water action against the soft limestone had created numerous caverns and tunnels that branched off in all directions.

_"Wenn Sie mir folgen, werde ich Ihnen zeigen, das Geheimnis der schwarzen Höhle,"_announced Jana from the head of the group, now leading the way towards one of the larger openings directly opposite the base of the staircase.

"Something about revealing a mystery," Hermione translated, recalling Jana having mentioned something about that prior to the start of the tour.

"The secret of the Black Cave," corrected Harry, doing nothing to hide his amusement at Hermione's slack jawed response to his superior grasp of the native tongue. "What?" he added with a laconic shrug.

Hermione allowed her feet to come to a halt. "You just always manage to surprise me, Harry Potter," she said, regarding him fondly.

In spite of his glamoured appearance, the lopsided grin that accompanied his laconic 'I try' was one hundred percent Harry and Hermione felt an almost overwhelming desire to claim the kiss she had been denied earlier.

Judging by the nervous way in which Harry cleared his throat, some of that emotion must have shown on her face and Hermione felt the heat rise into her cheeks as Harry tipped his head towards the now receding figures of Jana König and the rest of the tour.

"Shall we?" he asked.

Agreeing to his unspoken suggestion to catch up with the group without needing to voice it aloud, Hermione set off down the stone staircase, grateful that the path remained too narrow to require them to hold hands for the time being at least.

"How come you know so much German anyway?" she asked casting about for something to say which might diffuse the awkwardness she knew they both felt at that moment.

From behind, Harry leant closer, his voice conspiratorial whisper. "I was posted here for nearly a year after the war," he replied. "Well, not here exactly: Düsseldorf. I just picked it up I guess."

They had now caught up to the tail of the group, and, at nearly six foot tall, Harry had to bow his head slightly to avoid striking it on the low ceiling as they passed through the elliptical hole into which their tour leader had disappeared a few moments earlier.

After a few strides the tunnel mercifully widened out into a long, roughly cylindrical cave, the rest of the group arranging themselves in a rough semi-circle around Jana who stood facing them about two metres away from what could only be a deep pit, razor sharp stalagmites waiting to impale anyone unfortunate enough to slip off the narrow stone ledge which hugged the far left wall of the cave.

Hermione swallowed hard, and, as if in possession of a will of its own, her hand groped for, and found, Harry's. She had battled Dark Lord's and the foulest creatures known to wizard kind but she did not fancy the prospect of traversing that pathway one little bit.

Evidently understanding her concerns, Harry offered her hand a reassuring squeeze and directed her attention back towards their guide with a bob of his head.

Following his eye line, Hermione saw that the affable Miss König had retrieved a small, flat pebble from the ground. She turned on the spot, took a small step towards the pit's sheer edge, and tossed it in.

Instantly, Hermione began a silent count to determine the depth of the hole by timing how long it took for the stone to reach the bottom. However, far from ricochetting off the cavern floor far below, before Hermione had so much as counted to two, the stone splashed through the glassy surface of an underground lake, heretofore hidden by the optical illusion created by the cavern's roof being reflected by the placid waters.

A round of delighted applause followed, but Hermione barely noticed the sound, her brow instead pinching together in silent thought as her lightning quick mind alerted her that something was amiss: the ripples that had been spreading out from the point of impact had simply disappeared, the surface of the pool once again as smooth as glass.

"Did you see that?" she whispered.

Harry nodded. "There's magic at work here."

The familiar, adrenaline induced flood of commingled fear and excitement pounded through Hermione's veins. They had found them. Or at least their chances of finding them (and therefore the mirror) had increased exponentially.

"What's our next move?" she demanded only just restraining herself from casting the most powerful muggle-repelling charm she could muster to permit an investigation into the obviously magical phenomena posthaste.

"We come back tomorrow." His response was so instantaneous that Hermione knew that it had always been his intention to return. "It's a national holiday, the caves will be closed to the public. Shouldn't be too hard to get a team past security and sneak in."

Hermione was about to signal her agreement with a curt nod of her own when Harry's choice of phrasing snagged in her mind. "What do mean a _team_?" she whispered urgently as they fell into step behind Jana as she guided them all back to the main cavern to continue the tour.

"This isn't my jurisdiction, Hermione," he replied, matching her tone. "I need to brief the Germans tonight ... I'm certain they'll let me lead the team though," he added quickly in response to the alarmed look etched onto Hermione's features.

Hermione's response was emphatic. "We can't involve the Ministry in this," she said, fighting to control her voice against the rising tide of panic. She had to make him understand even if she could never admit to him (or herself for that matter) why she was so desperate to return home. "Do you really think that if we find the Mirror in here," she gestured to the walls of the cavern, "that the Germans will just hand it over?"

"They'll have no choice," answered Harry patiently. "The mirror was the property of Professor Dumbledore, the Executor of his Will will see that it is returned to Britain."

"And how long will that take?"

"No more than a couple of months - "

"Months?" squeaked Hermione, barely remembering to keep her voice down and she forced herself to count to five before continuing. "And I'm just supposed to carry on living _her _life until then?" she fumed, knowing she was failing miserably at her efforts to keep her temper in check. "Come to think of it, do we really think the Executor is just going to hand the mirror over to me for study? I'm just a school teacher here, remember?" she added, missing the power afforded by her position in her own world for the first time since her arrival in this one.

The muscles in Harry's jaw worked silently as he considered her points.

"Okay," he agreed. "We'll do this alone. I guess I can always forget to mention the mirror when I file a retrospective action report with Kingsley," he added with the same mischievous look Hermione recognised from school when he was trying to find a way to circumvent the rules. "He'll smooth over any ruffled feathers."

* * *

><p>Harry lay supine and completely motionless on the surprisingly soft mattress, his every nerve ending jangling with fear and excitement in equal measure as he tried to ignore the fact that he was sharing a bed with the woman he had loved for longer than he could remember. The soft, regular breaths coming from her side of the not overly large double indicative of the fact that she was having no such trouble with their sleeping arrangements.<p>

Having uncovered no additional evidence of magical activity during their extensive reconnaissance of the cave network, it was already well after dark when they had returned to the surface and decided to stop in at a local restaurant for a spot of dinner; a decision, mused Harry, that he was now living to regret.

Whether it wasthe subterranean air, the glass of wine she had consumed with her meal or else the shift in time zone (or a combination of all three), Hermione had declared herself too exhausted to return to the local floo terminal and had suggested staying somewhere nearby instead.

"You do look like you're about to fall asleep in your shoes," he had teased her as he procured what appeared to be the last hotel room in the town, the nationwide holiday the following day ensuring that almost every bed in the region was taken.

"I know! Pathetic, right?" she replied, her self-deprecating statement accompanied by a tired smile.

_Pathetic? _Harry allowed himself a small smile at the memory. It certainly wasn't the first word that had come to mind. In truth, he had thought that her sleepy-eyes made her look cute, and he'd only just caught himself from saying so aloud.

_Dammit, _he scolded himself realising he had allowed his thoughts to wander back to a path he could not follow; she was married, and, perhaps more to the point, she was leaving, so what did it matter if he loved her?

A humourless chuckle escaped his lips as he admitted that fact for the first time: he loved her.

At first he had tried to convince himself that his feelings towards the woman lying next to him we're simply a transference of those he held for her other self, now missing for more than two weeks. However, during the long days spent largely in solitude following up leads all over the region, he had finally come to accept that, whilst she was very much like the woman he had loved from afar for so long - kind, quick witted and every bit as beautiful - there was also something _else _about her, something that made her, if possible, even more captivating to him and was that thrall that she exerted over him that ensured that he felt totally unable to relax when all that separated them was a narrow expanse of mattress.

"We're both adults, Harry," she had said when she had first seen the room and its solitary bed. "I think we can be trusted to share a bed."

_Maybe you can, _he had been tempted to say, but instead found himself pleading his ignorance of the situation. "I - I didn't know, Hermione ... I swear!"

And it was the truth - he had requested a twin room, but this, he had learnt after a quick trip back down to the reception, was the only room available given the sheer number of visitors flooding to the area for the holiday.

Hermione had fallen asleep almost as soon as her head had hit the pillow, but Harry, desperately mindful of the intimacy of the situation had lain awake for what felt like hours.

_She's married_, he reminded himself for the umpteenth time that evening alone as he tried to banish thoughts of her so that he might catch a few hours of sleep. _Married to my best friend._

_But he's not your best friend,_answered his inner voice, refusing his command to remain silent.

_He might as well be, _Harry countered. _Besides, it's irrelevant; she wants to go back to him; you saw that look in her eyes down by the lake - she can see a way home now._

_I did, _conceded his subconscious, _but then you have to admit what you saw in her eyes on the bridge: she wanted to kiss you._

Had he been speaking aloud, Harry knew he would have stammered over that question. He had seen_something_reflected in her chestnut eyes that made him question the answer he now gave: _She was acting. Maintaining our cover._

_Was she? Or did she want to kiss you just as much as much as you wanted to kiss her?_

Unsure if he even wanted an answer to that last question (surely it would be far harder to give her up if he believed there was even the smallest chance that she reciprocated), Harry welcomed the distraction that came in the form of a soft moan issuing from Hermione's slightly parted lips.

Pulling his eyes from the water stain on the ceiling he had fixed his gaze upon, Harry turned his head and chanced a glance to his side. In the weak glow offered up by the street lights beyond the room's single window he could see that she had kicked the covers off at some point during the night, the exposed skin of her legs and arms (she had transfigured her blouse into a nightgown) already turning to goose-flesh as the temperature plummeted.

Not wishing to wake her, Harry tried to gently rearrange the blankets but found them pinned down by her dead weight.

Realising that he was going to have to move her to free them, Harry's eyes, long attuned to the limited, faintly orange light available, made short work of identifying the problem: they were trapped between her knees.

"Merlin help me," he whispered as he reached out a hand, his fingertips grazing the incredibly soft skin of her thighs as he gently extracted the slightly scratchy hotel-issue blankets from between her knees, a shiver of excitement working its way up his spine in response. "I must be mental," he added to no one in particular.

Finally succeeding in his endeavours to free them, Harry flipped the covers over her body, swallowing her whole and was about to return from his self imposed exile on the other side of the bed when Hermione rolled over and ensnared his hand in hers with a speed of movement that was surely impossible for someone so deep in slumber.

"Hermione?" he whispered, certain that she must at least been stirring.

However, far from rousing at the sound of his voice, Hermione merely shifted her body into a more comfortable position - one which apparently required her to be literally moulded to his side. She hitched her right leg over both of his, effectively trapping him, and splayed her free hand wide over his bare chest where his heart was beating a heady rhythm against his ribs.

Separated by only thinnest piece of cloth which did very little to disguise each and every one of her curves, Harry lay stock still, every fibre of his being focused on the sensation of the warmth of her breath against his neck.

Whether she was dreaming or not, Harry could not say, but after a few moments of fidgeting and squirming against his side she mumbled something that sounded very much like, "Hold me."

And he did.

As if controlled by some unseen puppet master, Harry complied before he could even consciously register what he was doing. He shifted his body weight towards the window slightly and succeeded in extracting his trapped arm which he immediately wound around her slender shoulders, the sigh of contentment that slipped past her lips in response bringing a genuine smile to his lips for the first time since he had seen where they would be sleeping.

"Good night, Hermione," he whispered and he pressed a tender kiss against her forehead.

He knew that he was still going to have to let her go - something he felt sure was now going to be even harder than ever - but if this was to be the only night he would ever share with her, he wanted to remember it forever.

The tension immediately drained out of his muscles and he revelled in the simple pleasure of watching her sleep, his own eyes finally sliding shut a few hours before sunrise.

* * *

><p>"Harry?"<p>

His name was past her lips even before she had fully regained consciousness; pulled from her slumber by a noise she couldn't readily identify. She sat up in bed and automatically pulled the covers a little higher to preserve her modestly.

With his long hair and his hunched up shoulders, Harry looked almost like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew, the door having made heavy contact with a careworn chest of draws (the only other piece of furniture in the tiny room). Evidently it was this sound that had awoken her.

"Sorry," he whispered, his gaze shifting up and down the deserted hallways anxiously, not for his irate parents, but for angry neighbours appearing at their doorways to investigate the commotion.

When none appeared he flashed a plastic smile and added, "I was just going to pop down and get us some breakfast."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, but it was few seconds before her conscious mind caught up with her instinctive reaction. There was something off about his mannerisms that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yeah ... fine," replied Harry with what he hoped was not obviously forced cheerfulness. "I just never sleep properly in an unfamiliar bed."

Hermione nodded her understanding as she stifled a yawn with a fisted hand. "You'll be okay for our mission, though?"

Harry's plastic smile slipped slightly; she was already thinking about returning home; he was losing her already.

"Yeah," he repeated feeling stupider by the minute. "I just need some coffee and I'm good to go. Get dressed and I'll bring some croissants back up to the room."

Without waiting for a response, Harry stepped out of the room, allowed the door close behind him and ran both hands through his hair as he leant his shoulders against now closed door at his back remembering just in time not to allow his skull to make contact with it. Acting normally around her now that he had accepted how he truly felt was going to be far harder than he had thought.

* * *

><p>A short while later and after a quick breakfast (which Harry had mostly just pushed around his plate), both Harry and Hermione stood once more at the edge of the underground lake, its glassy surface as flawless as it had been the previous day.<p>

Gaining access to the caves had been simplicity incarnate: a first year's unlocking charm coupled with a disillusionment charm to hide themselves from the muggle security cameras.

Harry was pacing back and forth with his wand in hand at the water's edge, his gaze never once shifting from the placid surface of the lake as he muttered something incomprehensible under his breath.

"What was that?" Hermione asked from her position to his left where she was unsuccessfully trying to determine the extent of the magical protections they both felt certain were in place.

"I've seen this before," repeated Harry, before falling into a pensive silence that seemed to stretch for far longer than the handful of minutes Hermione knew it to be objectively.

She was just about to prompt him when he snapped his fingers together in triumph.

"What? What is it?"

By way of an answer Harry began to stalk the foreshore again, this time with his arms groping blindly in thin air as if playing a game of Marco Polo until he gave a yelp of commingled surprise and victory, his hand closing around something that Hermione could to see.

Suddenly she understood. "Voldemort's cave," she said in wonder, her mind making the connection between what she was seeing and the events Harry had recounted to her.

"You've been?" Harry wanted to know as he raised his clenched fist and tapped it with the point of his wand.

"No," answered Hermione quietly, as a thick rope covered in some sort of green slime appeared in his hand instantaneously. "You and Dumbledore went alone."

Knowing what would happen even before Harry tapped his knuckles again, Hermione watched in wonder as the rope began to slide through his fingers as if pulled by the hand of an invisible giant. However, where she had fully expected to see the prow of a small boat break the surface, Her gaze fell instead on a stone staircase emerging from the depths like some sort of prehistoric escalator, the uppermost step just breaking the smooth surface with barely a ripple.

"We have to go in." It wasn't a question.

Harry nodded resolutely. "We have to go in."

Hermione swallowed hard silently musing that the narrow pathway which ran around the edge looked infinitely more appealing today given what she knew lurked in the waters of a different cave on the English coast.

Silently agreeing to go simultaneously, Harry and Hermione stepped onto the first step, clasped hands, and descended one step at a time into the icy water, pausing only on the fourth step when the water had reached their necks to cast a bubble head charm.

With a final glance, both knew the other was ready, and they stepped into the depths together.

* * *

><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>AN -** An even bigger thanks than normal to Katesmom2, who cast her eye over this late last night so I could post it today. She went above and beyond to get this back to me so quickly, so trust me, any mistakes that remain belong to me.

Still no harmony (sorry). But we're getting there ... slowly.

* * *

><p><strong>Recap<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter one -<strong>__ Hermione finds herself addicted to the mirror of erised which taunts her with images of the thing she most desires._

_**Chapter two- **__Harry and Ron race to find Hermione who is missing. They locate her moments too late and watch helplessly as Hermione is pulled into the mirror._

_**Chapter three -**__ Hermione travels through the multiverse, landing in the world where her heart's desire has come to pass._

_**Chapter four - **__We learn that Hermione's desire is not, as we had been lead to believe, Harry, but instead her younger sister who died as an infant. In this world she is alive and well and engaged to Ron, a discovery that leads to Hermione running away._

_**Chapter five - **__Hermione confesses the truth of her origins to Harry who promises to help her return home. In return, Hermione swears to help Harry find his own version of Hermione whom we learn he is in love with._

_**Chapter six -**__ We learn that Roslaine's survival in this universe has altered the timeline considerably. Perhaps most notably, Ginny Weasley was killed in the Chamber of Secrets in 1993 leading to Voldemort's resurrection far earlier than in canon. The chapter concludes with the arrival of a furious looking Rosaline Granger._

_**Chapter Seven**__ - Rosaline's anger with Harry is quickly abated when Ron arrives and interrupts their prank. Harry reveals a little of the plan that will occupy his and Hermione's time with Rosaline reminding him of the surprise party she had organised for Hermione for the next day._

_**Chapter Eight -**__ Hermione and Harry attends a lavish Birthday party in her honour at the burrow where celebration turns into disaster. Caught up in the moment, Hermione wonders what it would be like to kiss her best friend, she and Harry sharing their first kiss on the crowded dance floor. Feeling as though she has just made a terrible mistake, Hermione flees the party leaving a guilt ridden Harry to face the music alone._

_**Chapter Nine -** Harry finds Hermione in the __derelict Umbrella Cottage, the marital home she shared with Ron. Intending to apologise for kissing her, Hermione surprises him by making that apology herself. Their friendship repaired, Hermione returns to Hogwarts to take her alter ego's place as transfiguration teacher. The chapter ends with Harry leaving for Germany to investigate a possible lead on the Mirror of Erised. _


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N - **Thanks as always to my wonderful betas, katesmom2 and Lorien829. The (much needed) recap is down yonder. *ponts to bottom of page* Enjoy.

**Disclaimer** - I've got to be up in five hours, I really don't have time to come up with a new way of saying I don't own Potter.

* * *

><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

* * *

><p>Ice cold water seared at Hermione's skin as the lake enveloped her in its frigid embrace. The already alien, subterranean world of the cave system immediately giving way to one that was even more so.<p>

Nearly completely weightless, the soles of her shoes merely grazed the top of each slime covered step, as the sounds of their ingress quickly faded from her ears to be replaced by a heavy silence that made her feel extremely vulnerable in this strange environment.

At her side, Harry briefly released her hand to enable him to tap his wand to the thick, hawser-like chord that he still clutched in his fist like the handrail of some precarious rope bridge strung high above a mountain gorge. With a sizeable jerk that sent her hand groping for his once more, the entire staircase shuddered into movement, and slowly but surely it began to carry them into the unseen depths.

Although the lake had not appeared overly turbid from the surface, perhaps owing to the lack of a natural light source, after descending for just a few seconds, colours quickly began to shift: reds now appeared brown or black, whilst everything else seemed insipid, nearly ghost-like by comparison. It was, Hermione mused, as if the entire scene had been created by some unseen artist who had been denied the use of his entire palette,

Soon, even that pale imitation of the vibrant and colourful world above the surface became but a memory. Submerged for less than a minute, Hermione could now see only a few feet in any direction, and she flinched as the huge, indistinct shadow, of what she could only presume to be a great column of rock, slipped silently past them in the growing gloom, just at the edge of her field of vision.

Finally, when even those last, weak rays of light were stolen by the dark tendrils that reached out from the depths, Hermione lit her wand, her voice sounding unnaturally loud within the confines of the protective dome of her bubble-head charm.

"Lu-Lumos."

Instantly, her surroundings snapped back into stark relief; Harry's wide, green eyes appearing next to her so suddenly, that, in spite of her objective knowledge that he had never been more than a few inches from her side, actually startled her a little.

Almost perfectly camouflaged against the sea of obsidian that had retreated only a little under the effulgence of her wand-light, Harry's dark hair and clothing gave the impression that he was little more than a free floating head. Nevertheless, it was obvious from the set of his jaw that he was fighting against his body's natural response to the cold, and it was only in that moment that she became aware that she was shivering violently herself. In fact, she now registered, her incantation to light her wand tip had been forced past chattering teeth.

For the first time since entering the water, Hermione recognised that she had seriously underestimated the true foe they were to face beneath the waves; an enemy equally deadly, yet far more pressing than the (thus far absent) army of Inferi she had initially feared they might encounter in the lake –_ the cold._

Her internal clock - usually trustworthy in such matters - estimated that they had entered the water less than two minutes ago, yet, she noted with alarm, far from her skin continuing to burn at the caress of the ice-cold fingers that swirled about her as she was propelled through the water, her extremities now felt almost completely numb. Wooden fingers maintained a clumsy grip on her wand and her feet were now so cold that she found it increasingly difficult to maintain her footing on the narrow stairway.

She had never felt a cold like this in all of her life, and she knew it would only be a matter of minutes before they would both succumb to it unless either she or Harry could come up with a way of combatting the effects.

_Think, Hermione, think!_

Faculties dulled by the penetrating chill, it took several long moments for her usually agile mind to present several warming charms for her consideration but she discounted each of them almost before they had fully formed within her mind: none were anywhere near powerful enough to offset the countless gallons of freezing water leaching the heat from their cores at an alarming rate.

_But there has to be a way, _she thought furiously.

However, even as her rational mind protested the illogic of an entrance, nigh on impenetrable to friend or foe, another part of her consciousness recognised that this was entirely in keeping with what she knew of the Death Eaters as a group – weaken any unwanted intruder, whilst simultaneously providing a stern test to ensure that only the strongest amongst their ranks could gain access to whatever secrets lay hidden beneath the waves.

Her spirits, which had soared upon the discovery of secret entrance, now plumbed new depths and she mentally revised their chances of success downwards. Confronting an unknown number of the remnants of Voldemort's army was one thing – and that, she was now quite certain, is what awaited them - but to do so with their powers blunted from the cold was quite another.

Her apathy, however, was not given long to fester.

A cloud of plankton, gently shimmering in the glow given off by her wand light, emerged from the pitch blackness directly ahead of them, it's appearance sending a chill of dread straight through her even before she could consciously registered her mistake: _That's not plankton._

"Harry!" His name fell from her lips as a panicked exclamation before she could remind herself that her voice would not carry to his ears. She placed her arm across his chest as if to restrain him, but is was too late. Without so much as slowing down they plunged headlong into the cloud.

The entire world seemed to flip upside down, and, for all she knew, it had. As soon as her body had made contact with what she now realised was some sort of magical mist, her wand light had been extinguished, thus denying her any frame of reference for up or down.

"Lumos!" she shouted, but only an angry stream of bubbles issued from her mouth – her bubble-head charm had also failed.

Mouthing a silent curse, she tried again and again to recast both spells - this time non-verbally - but to no avail, her repeated failure bringing the cold taste of fear to her mouth.

Clamping down on that rising tide of panic buy sheer force of will, Hermione attempted to calm her racing heartbeat in an effort to conserve her now limited supply of oxygenated blood and allow herself time to think.

Eyes wide in a futile effort to force them to adjust to the perpetual midnight, she turned herself through what she estimated to be a complete circle, hoping against hope that she might catch some sight of Harry – whom she had lost in the initial confusion – or else something, _anything,_ to help her orientate herself. She was to be sorely disappointed.

_I'm going to die down here._

It was then, just as she had unhappily accepted that it was to be her fate to die deep beneath the soil of an alien world, that she felt a strong arm wrap around her waist: _Harry!_ At least she would die with the man she loved.

But Harry, it seemed, had no intention of accepting their fate. Kicking hard he began to pull her through the water, her own limbs matching him stroke for stroke as soon as she understood that, by means as yet unknown, he knew which way led to safety.

And he did.

Foot by tortuous foot, the gloom slowly began to lighten and Hermione felt a tiny spark of hope ignite in her chest. _We're going to make it. _However, even as she permitted herself that brief moment to believe that they might just survive this ordeal, the hammer blow of reality returned and brutally crushed that nascent hope.

It was still so dark - there were surely still dozens of feet below the surface - and already she was tiring; starved of oxygen, her muscles were seizing up and her lungs were screaming at her to draw the breath she knew would kill her should she comply. Were it not for Harry's firm grip about her waist, she was certain that she would have fallen behind.

But Harry was not for letting go. Even in the eerie, green-lit waters, she could see that his cheeks were red with exertion, every sinew in his neck pulled taut as he found reserves of strength to put on a spurt of speed towards the surface now discernible far overhead.

However, far from watching the surface draw inexorably nearer, for Hermione that goal seemed to drift further and further out of reach.

She was dizzy and her chest burnt with the effort of holding her breath for so long, her vision quickly receding to a narrow point of light far overhead as if she were looking through a very long tunnel.

Instinct tipped her chin backwards, but even as her her mouth groped blindly for the taste of fresh air that just would not come fast enough, the rest of her body became quite still and her head lolled forwards.

Water flooded though her mouth and nose, quickly filling her throat. She choked, but by now she was wholly unaware of her body's last, desperate attempt to prolong her life, her awareness having already faded into nothingness.

* * *

><p>Had anyone been present to bear witness to the event, Harry's sudden appearance in the centre of the small, underground pool, could easily have been mistaken for a muggle mine detonating just below the surface, such was the force with which he exploded from the water.<p>

Almost before he had drawn breath, he was screaming her name, the three syllables drawn out into a single, almost keening cry of despair.

Dread's cold fist clutched at his heart. "HERMIONE!" he repeated, but she did not answer, her slender frame, still held tightly at his side, still and terrifyingly silent.

Blinking furiously to banish the stars that still peppered his vision, and barely conscious of the great, shuddering lungfuls of gloriously cool air his body greedily devoured, Harry rolled onto his back, and, being careful to keep her head above the water line, made for the nearest shore.

Dimly aware that this was not the same cave from which they had first ventured into the water - this one far smaller and less well lit - Harry was soon dragging her out of the shallows and up, what could only be described as an underground beach. Ordinarily he knew he was more than capable of lifting her clean out of the water, however, the combined effects of her sodden, waterlogged clothes, and his own weakened state owing to his recent exertions ensured that it was several long moments before he had succeeded in pulling her completely clear.

"Hermione?" he gasped, kneeling at her side and pushing her wet, tangled hair out of her face.

Dread immediately ossified into fatalistic certainty; she was so still, her pale, stubbornly silent lips, faintly blue.

Shaking from head to toe in a manner that had very little to do with the cruel chill of the cool, subterranean air against his wet skin, Harry's trembling fingers fumbled against the slick skin of her exposed neck and he pressed his conjoined index and middle fingers there.

_Nothing._

Hot tears pricked at his eyelids. "No! Please, God no! Hermione, please wake up … _PLEASE_ … "

Overcome by a sense of loss so powerful, his lament fell silent; she was gone. He had known all along that he would have to let her go, but not this way, not like this.

He knew he should get up, dry himself before he too succumbed to the cold, but his muscles refused his commands to move – none of it mattered anymore.

Hunched over at her side, his throat tightened and his shoulders started to quake as the tears her had thus far held in check breached the dam and coursed down his cheeks blurring his vision; Hermione Jane Granger, the most beautiful human being he had ever know was …

_Thud._

Stunned, Harry's head snapped back up as he felt a weak, but totally unmistakeable pulse thrum beneath his fingers.

_Thud._

Again.

_Thud._

And again.

_She's alive!_

Exhaustion briefly forgotten, Harry scrambled up and straddled her supine body, his ear bent low and only a few inches from her slightly parted lips. "Come on, come on," he urged, and was eventually rewarded by a chill breeze on his skin as she exhaled softly.

"That a girl, Hermione."

Fighting down his jubilation - they were not out of the woods just yet - years of auror training and first hand battlefield experience kicked in. His wand arm flew over her still form with a practised ease as he administered half a dozen standard healing and restorative spells as well as several powerful warming charms.

After a tense silence that seemed to drag on for far longer than the few seconds he knew it to be objectively, he was rewarded by her heavy lashes fluttering open to reveal the beautiful, if slightly confused, brown eyes that he loved so much.

"Harry?"

The corners of Harry's lips spasmed into an odd smile by way of response.

"You - you saved me." It was not a question. Although she had no memory of how she came to awaken in this place (wherever that proved to be), that she owed her life to Harry James Potter? Of this she was certain.

Harry's smile split into a wide grin. "You would have done the same for - "

But Hermione didn't need to hear the rest of his, no doubt modest, reply: she knew the truth. Ignoring the wave of vertigo that coursed through her, she thrust herself up and propped herself up on one elbow whilst the other wound round his neck in a fierce embrace.

"Thank you, Harry."

She pressed a tender kiss to his cool cheek and pulled back so that she was gazing straight up at him. He wore a peculiar expression, the finger tips of his left hand were grazing the spot where she had kissed him as if trying to memorize every contour of her lips.

Before she could so much as register her movement, she was closing the distance between them, her head tipped slightly to one side. A thrill of anticipation ran through her and she parted her lips ever so slightly as she allowed her eyelids to slide shut.

However, just before her vision became lost behind the tangle of her own lashes, she caught sight of a lone figure approaching stealthily from behind Harry's right shoulder.

Her eyes snapped open; clad in the dark robes and mask synonymous with Death Eaters suddenly Hermione remembered everything.

_The mirror!_

_The cave!_

_The lake!_

Possessed of a will of it's own, Hermione's right hand jerked up. "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

Amazed to find her wand still ensconced firmly in her palm, a jet of energy shot forth and struck her foe square in the chest; the Death Eater's arms and legs instantly snapped together and he overbalanced, crashing to the ground with a loud thud.

All of this occurred within the space of a few seconds and Harry's head spun around to regard his would-be assassin laying face down on the smooth rock perhaps ten feet behind him.

"I guess we're even," he grinned.

* * *

><p>A couple of minutes later, when there was no sign of any reinforcements and they were both suitably dried and warmed following their ordeal, Harry and Hermione stood over the prone Death Eater.<p>

"Who do you reckon it is?" asked Harry, flipping him roughly onto his back with his toe. "Crabbe? Rookwood? Travers?" He ticked each one off against his fingers.

Hermione gave a tiny shrug by way of response: both Rookwood and Travers were serving life sentences in Azkaban in her universe whilst Crabbe had been killed in the final battle. "Only one way to find out."

Harry gave a stiff nod and trained his wand on their unidentified prisoner, his unspoken invitation that she should be the one to remove his mask as clear as if he had shouted it aloud.

Crouching low, Hermione ran her finger tips around the mask's outer edge, probing for some sort of release mechanism or a recess into which she could insert a finger to prise it free – almost unbelievably, in the decade or so that she had fought against Voldemort's former supporters, she had never once been called upon to remove one of their masks.

Finally, just below the insensate Death Eater's left ear she found such a hollow, and, mimicking the action she had witnessed but never performed, tore it away from his flesh, the mask dissolving into vapour in her hand.

Her brow immediately folded into a frown; no more than a teenager, perhaps just old enough to be called a young man - _just_ - Hermione found that she did not recognise him. He had pallid skin, a slightly doughy jaw line and dark hair swept across his forehead like a rough brushstroke.

"Do you know him?" Hermione wanted to know and she directed a pointed look towards Harry.

"Never seen him before in my life," he answered. "He can't be more than sixteen; he'd have only been a kid during the war."

Hermione tipped her head to the side in acknowledgment of that fact. "That may be so," she said at length as she stood and dusted a powdery residue from her clothes, "but it's hardly very enlightening."

"You think we should wake him?" asked Harry having followed her statement to its obvious conclusion.

"I don't think we have much of a choice."

"Okay, but do me a favour and cover him," said Harry. "This is a tricky counter curse. Ready?"

Hermione merely nodded by way of response, a single quick jerk of her chin, and trained her own wand on their prisoner.

"Partalis Motus," intoned Harry.

The stiff muscles of the young man's face immediately loosened and he blinked stupidly a couple of times before his gaze locked on Harry standing over him. "You!" he snarled, his boyish features contorting into a look of pure malice.

"Me," agreed Harry with a grim smile that widened ever so slightly as the Death Eater tried to get up but found his body still paralysed below the neck. "Now you're going to tell us what we need to know or you'll find my sunny disposition doesn't last very long."

At Harry's use of that particular pronoun the adolescent turned his head as far as he could manage until his hate-filled gaze landed on Hermione.

"And the mudblood," he spat.

Hermione gave a sickly sweet smile. "And proud," she added as an afterthought.

To her surprise, in spite of her taunting, the Death Eater actually smiled at that. "My Master will reward me greatly when I deliver the cursed Harry Potter and his mudblood whore to - "

"DON'T - " bellowed Harry, his voice echoing alarmingly against the smooth walls, " - call her that," he concluded his voice dropping to a quieter, yet far more menacing growl.

The young Death Eater flexed his jaw muscles in response but said nothing more, that action briefly banishing the slight doughiness of youth and allowing Hermione's mind to make the connection it had been trying to complete since she had first laid eyes on him.

"I know who he is!" exclaimed Hermione. "He's a Carrow!"

The boy's eyes flashed with surprise but he recovered his composure quickly. "Mimas Carrow," he declared, thrusting his chin forward with as much defiance as he could muster.

"I wish I could say it was a pleasure," replied Harry. "But we are at least making some progress," he continued smoothly, allowing no time for Mimas to interject. "We know who you are, and that you are working for someone. You might as well tell us the rest, we're going to figure it out anyway. It could work in your favour if you cooperate now - maybe even keep you out of Azkaban?"

At this Carrow gave a high, cold laugh that carried with it very little mirth. "You actually think you've beaten me?"

Hermione shot a troubled glance towards Harry; he sounded truly demented.

"My Master has made me more powerful than you can ever imagine, I will smite you down and present your bodies as a gift!"

Stunned at his crazed declaration, before either Harry or Hermione could utter so much as a single syllable in response, Carrow shut his eyes and brought his chin down to his chest, a deep, guttural sound emanating from somewhere deep within his gut.

The response was instant. Soundlessly at first, as though the room was being shaken by an unseen giant, a vibration so powerful that it nearly knocked Hermione off her feet ran through the very stone of the cavern and was quickly accompanied by a rumble that started like the distant crashing of waves against the shore, and rose to a thunderous crescendo.

"Harry?"

Harry dropped to his knees, wadded a fistful of Mimas' robes in his left hand and lifted him to meet his gaze. "Whatever it is you're doing, stop it now," he demanded, thrusting his wand tip against the soft flesh beneath the teen's jaw.

"It's too late," he replied with a deranged smile. "It is coming. Kill me if you wish, but it will not save you. Nothing will."

"Harry!" repeated Hermione doing nothing to keep the fear from her voice. "We need to get out of here," and she pointed one shaking hand towards the far side of the cavern where a cloud of smoke was coalescing into a vaguely humanoid form as she pulled Harry backwards with the other.

"Inferi!" he exclaimed as he looked up just in time to see the decaying figure take form.

"Worse," replied Hermione, already back-pedalling away from the shoreline, Mimas' taunting laughter ringing in her ears. "Draugr. Run!"

* * *

><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author Musings<strong> _- I know, I know. I'm an awful human being! Not only do I make you wait two months for an update (is anyone still reading? Hello?), but now I leave you with an evil cliffie.

To that end, I would like to ask your opinions on something: Desire is approaching its conclusion; would y'all prefer me to concentrate on finishing it, or continue to alternate between this and Better Never than Late?

As for this latest chapter, you didn't imagine it, Hermione did refer to Harry as the man she loved. HARMONY! However, given that the thought occurred whilst at the bottom of a freezing lake I don't think she is quite there yet.

* * *

><p><strong>Recap<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter one<strong> - Hermione finds herself addicted to the mirror of erised which taunts her with images of the thing she most desires._

_**Chapter two **- Harry and Ron race to find Hermione who is missing. They locate her moments too late and watch helplessly as Hermione is pulled into the mirror._

_**Chapter three** - Hermione travels through the multiverse, landing in the world where her heart's desire has come to pass._

_**Chapter four** - We learn that Hermione's desire is not, as we had been lead to believe, Harry, but instead her younger sister who died as an infant. In this world she is alive and well and engaged to Ron, a discovery that leads to Hermione running away._

_**Chapter five** - Hermione confesses the truth of her origins to Harry who promises to help her return home. In return, Hermione swears to help Harry find his own version of Hermione whom we learn he is in love with._

_**Chapter six** - We learn that Roslaine's survival in this universe has altered the timeline considerably. Perhaps most notably, Ginny Weasley was killed in the Chamber of Secrets in 1993 leading to Voldemort's resurrection far earlier than in canon. The chapter concludes with the arrival of a furious looking Rosaline Granger._

_**Chapter Seven** - Rosaline's anger with Harry is quickly abated when Ron arrives and interrupts their prank. Harry reveals a little of the plan that will occupy his and Hermione's time with Rosaline reminding him of the surprise party she had organised for Hermione for the next day._

_**Chapter Eight** - Hermione and Harry attends a lavish Birthday party in her honour at the burrow where celebration turns into disaster. Caught up in the moment, Hermione wonders what it would be like to kiss her best friend, she and Harry sharing their first kiss on the crowded dance floor. Feeling as though she has just made a terrible mistake, Hermione flees the party leaving a guilt ridden Harry to face the music alone._

_**Chapter Nine** - Harry finds Hermione in the derelict Umbrella Cottage, the marital home she shared with Ron. Intending to apologise for kissing her, Hermione surprises him by making that apology herself. Their friendship repaired, Hermione returns to Hogwarts to take her alter ego's place as transfiguration teacher. The chapter ends with Harry leaving for Germany to investigate a possible lead on the Mirror of Erised._

_**Chapter Ten -** Hemione accompanies Harry to a cave system in Germany where Harry believes Death Eaters may have hidden the mirror. Each grapple with their feelings for one another, with Harry being the first to recognise those feeling as love. Following a night in a local hotel, the duo return to the cave the next day where they discover an underwater staircase they realise they must follow._


	12. Chapter 12

**_AN ~_ **_Hello everyone. I can not apologise enough for the near-epoch that has past since my last update. I wish I could say I had an excuse, but the bottom line is that I was stuck. I knew what I wanted to happen, but it wouldn't go on the page. Anyway, I hope there are still a few of you out there to read this. _

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>

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><p>He didn't need to be told twice.<p>

Abruptly releasing his grip on the young Death Eater's robes, Harry scrambled to his feet, his arms pinwheeling ahead of him as he tried to keep his balance, the soles of his shoes finding scant purchase on the timeworn stone. Only poise born out of countless hours spent astride a broom kept him somewhere near the vertical and he sped off in pursuit of Hermione's already rapidly retreating heels.

However, no sooner had he regained his footing, Harry found himself pitching forwards once more, the ground rushing up to meet his face. He had snagged his trailing foot on Carrow's outstretched arm and, completely powerless to arrest his momentum, he hit the deck with a sickening sound that could only be described as a wet crunch.

When time next reassembled itself – One? Five? Ten seconds later? – Harry found himself lying face down on a bed of unyielding stone, an ill defined sense of panic swirling about him like the last remnants of a nightmare he could not fully grasp.

"Hermione?"

As always, he thought of — _feared for? — _her first. But although he could feel the muscles of his jaw working to form the familiar syllables of her name, the only sound that came forth was a pitiful moan; a sound born of a painful throbbing, one that he had only just become aware of, radiating outwards from the bridge of his nose.

His tongue darted forwards to wet his lips, the taste of grit and the familiar tang of iron confirming the likely cause of the aforementioned pain: his nose was broken.

Blinking back the darkness that haloed his sight, Harry pushed himself roughly onto all fours. There he swayed unsteadily for a moment.

"Hermione!"

Though he was certain that he had succeeded in producing speech that was at least somewhat coherent this time, his tremulous voice was immediately overpowered by a powerful blast of sound: a single, terrifying note that sounded more like a wail of static from a poorly tuned muggle radio than anything else.

Ignoring the wave of vertigo he knew it would induce, Harry shoved himself fully upright and twisted towards the source of the unearthly noise. Instantly, his panic, like a ship emerging from the mist, coalesced into full and terrifying detail – _The draugr!_

Standing at least six foot tall, the creature, its head tossed back so that what little remained of its tangled hair spilled past the scabbard it wore on its back, ceased it's terrible cry, closed its gash of a mouth and began to advance on Harry's position.

"Run, Harry! For God's sake, RUN!"

Hermione's shouts — frantic, bordering on the hysterical — called out to him from somewhere over his left shoulder, the sound of her pounding footfalls colliding with her every word. But Harry, almost as if his body had forgotten how, could not move, his gaze utterly transfixed on the being before him.

Skeletally thin leg, the remnants of its skin stretched taut across its bones visible beneath its leather armour, Harry could understand why he had initially mistaken the creature for an inferus. But this, he could tell, although similar in outward appearance to the army of slaves Voldemort had chosen to entrust one of his Horcruxes to, was a far more dangerous foe.

For one thing, he had never witnessed even a flicker of emotion cross the features of any such beast before — they felt nothing — yet this one wore a dangerous smirk that he could only describe as malevolent, an expression that pulled taut the emaciated flesh of its ruined face. For another, he realised with a start, the creature was actually _changing_ before his very eyes.

Like a grain of rice immersed in water, the draugr swiftly swelled to at least twice its former size. Wasted muscle and flesh, which had once clung to its cadaverous frame like moth bitten drapes adorning a draft riddled window, engorged with a sense of renewed power and vitality that instantly banished the memory of the creature's formerly diminished form.

Harry, however, noted these changes only dimly, much as one might register the weather upon first glancing out of a window, his attention instead held rapt by the one thing that had remained unaltered throughout: its eyes. Milky white, yet in possession of a dark, unknowable quality he could not readily articulate; Harry found himself unable to look away.

Instantly he was someplace—_someone?—_else.

_He was his father, his desperate last stand against Voldemort dispatched in less than the blinking of an eye._

_He was his mother, pleading for the life of her son – for him. Her existence literally torn away in a blinding flash of light._

_He was Quirrell, his every cell ablaze, his skin turning to ash even as his master drove him forwards once more._

'Don't look at it!" As if someone had clasped their hands over his ears, Hermione's voice reached him only distantly, his mind repulsed, yet simultaneously consumed by—_addicted to?—_the harrowing visions that invaded his thoughts. Visions, reasoned the tiny fragment of his right thinking mind that remained, that were somehow being projected directly into his consciousness by the draugr.

_He was Ginny Weasley._

_Terrified._

_Cold._

_Alone._

_One last rattling breath slipping past her cracked and partially opened lips as the shadow that had once been Tom Riddle became terrifyingly real once more._

_He was Remus, a noose hanging limply around his neck. His constant torment driven to new depths by the memories of his murderous revenge against the traitorous rat Pettigrew during his last transformation._

Powerless to prevent history repeating itself, Harry watched helplessly as he—_as Remus—_kicked away the stool upon which he was perched, the rope snapping tight around his neck as he fell …

_Crack!_

Time splintered around him. For the briefest of moments he was everywhere and yet nowhere at once before, just suddenly, he was back in the cave, the detail of the visions dissipating as quickly as the clap of sound that had brought him back to his senses.

"You can't look at it!"

He was on his knees (although he had no memory of how that had come to be), Hermione crouched directly in front of him, so close that he could feel her hot breath against his faintly damp cheek. _Tears,_ supplied his sluggish mind. _Have I been crying?_

"They can get inside your mind," she explained, her wide, uncertain eyes roving all over his face. "Literally drive a person insane …"

For a split second, Harry felt certain she was going to add more. Instead, no sooner had she finished saying this, she grabbed him by the hand and spurred him into motion, forcibly pushing him to one side to avoid tripping over the form of Mimas Carrow again. (Unbeknown to him, Mimas, still bound by Hermione's curse, had been rendered insensate when, unable to support his own weight, the back of his head had struck stone when Harry had rather unceremoniously released his grip on him.)

No more than half a quidditch pitch in length, it was not long before they had reached the the spot where the curving arch of the cave's stone ceiling met the ground. With no where else to run, Hermione dragged Harry down behind the meagre cover afforded them by a small Rocky outcrop. He did not resist as she guided him into a seated position with his back pressed against their makeshift parapet.

Harry screwed his eyes shut. His mind was racing as fast as his heartbeat, a thousand questions clamouring for his full attention at once: _What the bloody hell is that thing? What did it do to me? _He touched the fingertips of his conjoined index and middle fingers to his cheek. He winced. _And why does it feel as if I have taken a bludger to the jaw?_

"Harry!" Rendering him too stunned to voice any of those thoughts aloud, Harry's eyes sprang open as Hermione deposited herself onto his lap. Her knees were straddled either side of him, her bottom coming to rest somewhere near his hips. He felt his other cheek warm.

"Are you all right?" she panted, bracketing his face in her hands and duly eliciting another wince of pain.

"Yeah," he hissed.

A wave of relief, commingled with a flicker of another emotion he never dared hoped to see there flooded her features. The later vanishing so quickly Harry had to wonder whether it had ever been there at all.

"Everything aside from my cheek," he added.

As if hit by a powerful repulsor charm, Hermione's hands flew away from his face. "Sorry." Then she added: "But I couldn't think of another way to get through to you. Y - you were in some sort of trance. It was like you couldn't hear me ... couldn't see me …"

It was then that the last piece of the jigsaw that made up the events of the last few moments slipped into place. The echoing clap of sound, the sharp pain across his cheek, his momentary disorientation. _She slapped me,_ he realised and he lifted his hand to brush the raised welt on the side of his face again.

Perhaps that realisation showed on his face, for now Hermione also leant forward. The fingers of her left hand gently cupped the undamaged side of his face, whilst those of her right entwined around the fingers of his own hand that were tentatively exploring the already swollen lump. Tenderly she guided them away.

"Sorry," she repeated, her voice carried forth on a softly exhaled breath.

Harry's own breath hitched in his throat. She was looking at him in that same way again – a smile that was evident only in her eyes, her expressive brows ever so slightly pressed together – it was the same expression he had often seen adorning her feature's—those of the other Hermione's—on those occasions when she would watch Ron when she thought no one was else was looking. His heart swelled painfully in his chest. _Is it possible? Can she feel the same the same?_

As ecstatic as that possibility made him, the rational side of him realised that now was neither the time nor the place to talk about it. _Focus,_ he chided himself. _One thing at a time._

Aloud he said: "There's nothing to be sorry about. You saved me." He gave her hand a small squeeze of gratitude. "Twice."

Hermione directed a coy smile towards the ground before appearing to remember where they were. "Not that it will do us much good if we can't find a way out of here," she added.

Harry couldn't help but agree. He tried to sit up a little straighter but but found himself pinned in place by Hermione's weight.

"Er, Hermione?" He glanced down, pulling her gaze down with him.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her cheeks reddening as she recognised both his predicament and the compromising nature of their positions. "Sorry," she said again.

Freed from the prison of her legs, Harry flashed her a quick smile before pushing himself onto his knees to chanced a glance over the low wall of stone.

"What _is_ that thing?" he asked as he watched the now colossal draugr unhurriedly approaching the still insensate form of its master.

"Draugar are undead warriors," came the immediate reply. "They can be differentiated from Inferi and other revenants by their impressive magical abilities," she continued, slipping into what Harry had long ago termed her lecture mode. He had no doubt she was quoting from some obscure tome titled something misleadingly cheerful like Walking with the Walking Dead. "They can pass through solid rock, alter their form at will and possess the power to ensnare their victim's consciousness in an unending waking nightmare …"

Harry had heard enough – _We've got to find a way out of here_ – but, before he could so much as voice that thought aloud or chance another glance in the hopes of identifying some alternate means of escape that had, until now, alluded him, Hermione's grip on his fingers suddenly tightened.

"Mimas!" she exclaimed, her gaze directed back from whence they had fled. "We just left him there!"

Harry's brow crumpled in confusion, his first reaction—_so?—_warring with the evidence of his own senses as he followed the line of his best friend's eye.

Each of its tree trunk sized legs now straddling the still supine Death Eater, Harry watched as the draugr, a wicked smile pulling at the its newly restored features, slowly and deliberately lifted one enormous foot and positioned it above the rousing Carrow. Evidently it was intent on crushing him only once he had fully regained consciousness.

"I don't understand." Harry twisted towards Hermione. "Carrow summoned the bloody thing. He controls it, doesn't he?" But even before Hermione shook her head in response – a tiny, almost imperceptible movement – Harry knew that his assumptions had been way off.

"No one can control a draugr, Harry," she explained. "Inferi might be little more than mindless slaves, but draugar are cruel, vindictive creatures, motivated only but their love of gold and their delight in causing great suffering amongst the living."

Harry could well believe it, the draugr's malicious grin strikingly similar to the one worn by his cousin Dudley when he would set fire to ants with a magnifying glass in the back garden of his aunt's house.

Now Hermione did face him. "It's going to kill him unless we do something."

_Let him die._ The response was immediate, visceral, but immediately quashed by another voice – _her voice – _that bubbled up from deep within. _No one deserves to die like that. Save him._

A small smile ghosted across his features. She had always been the best of him; made him a better man. It would have never occurred to him to grant clemency to a man who had only recently tried to kill him. He wondered if that were also true of his counterpart in the universe from which she had travelled. Or had his own experiences left him hardened, somehow less compassionate? Less humane?

Putting that question aside, Harry nodded his agreement. "I'll get Carrow," he declared aloud, a seed of a plan already taking root within his mind: distract the draugr, get to Carrow and force him show them the way out. "Cover me."

His trust in her implicit, Harry broke cover before Hermione could so much as acknowledge his request. Nevertheless, he was unsurprised to see a jet of red energy arc over his head before slamming into the giant's shoulder sending it stumbling backwards, clutching at its injured arm and howling in pain.

His mouth set into a grimly determined line, Harry pounded across the cavern as fast as his leaden legs would carry him. Seconds later, he fell to his knees alongside his quarry.

"Motus!" He yelled the counter curse over the sound of yet more of Hermione's hexes striking their targets. Carrow let out a low moan, but still he did not stir.

_I haven't got time for this,_ thought Harry impatiently. If this draugr was even half as deadly as Hermione suggested – and she had never given him any reason to doubt her word before – she wouldn't be able to hold her own for long.

"Aguamenti!" A jet of water, more powerful perhaps than was strictly necessary, immediately shot forth from the tip of his wand. He knew he could have used Ennervate but, although he had chosen to spare his life, a simple reviving spell seemed too good for someone like Mimas Carrow; somehow he felt Hermione would approve.

Coughing and spluttering against the resultant deluge, Harry was still taking no chances: "Incarcerous," he intoned and bound the Death Eaters arms to his side with a length of strong yet thin cord.

"Release me!" screamed his prisoner.

Harry actually smiled at that. "And if I don't?"

In lieu of a response, Carrow fought a futile battle against his bonds, his cheeks reddening with effort before he gave up and fixed Harry with a hateful glare.

"I though as much." Harry couldn't keep the slightly smug note from his voice. "Now," he added, balling Carrow's robes into his fist and pulling him to his feet, "you're going to play nice and show us a way out of here that doesn't involve nearly drowning and in return I'm going to let you live so that you can stand trial for your crimes – "

"HARRY!"

Hermione's shouted interruption drew his attention away from the silent conflict playing across the Death Eater's face – assist them and face certain incarceration; decline and die – and back towards the battle he had thus far been forced to tune out.

Although Hermione continued to lay down a barrage of wand fire, the draugr, its six foot long broadsword drawn and already hand, was now steadily advancing on her position, each hex seemingly less effective than the last.

It was then that he understood, the words that Hermione had spoken mere minutes ago – _"They can alter their form at will"_ – reverberating loudly in his mind. Through means he did not comprehend, the draugr had somehow made itself impervious to spell fire.

"Hermione!" he yelled. "I'm coming." Then, speaking directly into Carrow's ear, he added a single word: "Move!"

His demand issued as little more than a feral growl and, still not taking any chances, he thrust the tip of his wand into the soft flesh beneath Carrow's chin, frog-marching him forwards by virtue of his other hand which was clamped firmly (and no doubt painfully) around the other man's bicep.

Hermione's eyes met his: _I'm not sure how much longer I can hold this thing off on my own,_ the unspoken fear evident there.

He would need his own wand free to come to her aid. "Don't try anything smart," he whispered menacingly, the implied consequences eliciting an almost infinitesimally small nod of agreement for his prisoner.

"DEFODO!"

"INCIDERE!"

"ABRUMPIO!"

Although certain that his own efforts to blast, burn or cut into the creature's flesh would prove as ineffective as Hermione's own, Harry permitted himself some small measure of satisfaction when his hailstorm of curses did at least prove sufficiently distracting that the draugr halted its advance to locate its source. It was all the hesitation that Harry needed and, pushing Mimas along ahead of him, he circled around the stationary giant to Hermione's position.

It was also at that precise moment that Harry made a crucial error:

Pressing his wand tip back into the soft flesh of his prisoner's jawline, Harry released his grip on on Carrow's shoulder so that he could take Hermione's extended hand in his.

However, no sooner had he done this, Mimas jerked his head violently backwards, the back of his skull smashing into Harry's already bloodied face. It was underhanded; it was dirty; it was _Muggle._ It was also incredibly effective.

Stars exploded in his vision and Harry crashed to the ground, the unmistakable sound of wood on stone audible over the grunt of pain that rushed past his lips as all of the breath was driven from his lungs, first from the impact with the unforgiving stone and then, a spit second later, as Hermione landed heavily on top of him, his grip on her hand having pulled her down on top of him.

"My wand!" he shouted thickly through a mouthful of blood, but it was already too late. Sprawled in a confusion of arms and legs, neither could right themselves quickly enough to prevent what happened next:

"Libero."

Carrow's voice, loud and clear in the echoing confines of the cave, spoke the incantation that would free him from his bindings – somehow he had managed to grab Harry's wand.

"You should have run while you had the chance, Potter," he crowed triumphantly, shaking off the severed ropes which fell to the ground like coiled snakes at his feet. "Now you and your precious mudblood will learn the true definition of power!"

Without permitting them any time to interject, Carrow turned and addressed the draugr directly. "Halt," he commanded, Harry's heart sinking like a stone when the creature actually obeyed. Instantly he sought Hermione's eye.

_You said no one could control a draugr, _he projected silently, knowing she would read the question writ large on his face.

_They can't, _came her answer in the form of a subtle shake of her head.

"It was I who summoned you," continued Mimas, his voice growing both in volume and confidence, "and you will do my bidding. Please me and I shall reward you with riches you can not begin to imagine ... "

"Big mistake," hissed Hermione and suddenly, chaos reigned.

Almost impossible to keep track of what was happening and to whom, the events of the following twenty-something seconds unfolding so quickly that, only with the benefit of hindsight, was Harry able to parse some order to the brief yet bloody battle.

This is what he recalled.

No sooner had she spoken, Hermione rolled to one side, the tip of the draugr's massive blade, preceded by a deafening rush of air, slicing horizontally through the spot she had just vacated.

For a moment – a splinter of time really – Mimas, who stood no more than a stride in front of them, remained completely still. Then, quite suddenly, his entire upper torso fell to the side and hit the ground with a hollow thud that was echoed a fraction of a second later by his legs.

His conscious mind recoiling in shock at the sight of a human body cleaved clean in two, instinct drove Harry forwards. He needed his wand.

A scream. A second rush of air.

Wrenching it free from Carrow's limp grip was the work of a moment, nevertheless It was a moment too long. Evading the glinting sword by throwing himself into a shoulder roll, Harry only managed to delay the inevitable. He rose to a crouch just as the draugr's other hand – now curled into a fist – smashed into him like a wall of rock sending him spiralling away. He came to rest in a heap at Hermione's feet.

"Harry!" She was instantly on her knees, one hand erecting a hastily constructed shield over them, the other skimming across his entire body as if she could determine the extent of his injuries by touch alone.

Through sheer force of will, Harry clung on to consciousness. "I'm fine." Although he had to grind the words out past clenched teeth – he could feel several of his ribs grinding against one another – Hermione made no move to prevent him from pushing himself roughly to all fours. "This ends now," he added, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "Is there a way to kill it?"

For a moment she was silent, a faraway, thoughtful look washing across her face as she pulled the required facts from her near encyclopaedic memory. "There is," she admitted after a beat. "But it's mad …"

Lifting his chin fractionally, Harry saw that the draugr had already halved the distance between them. He raised his eyebrows and fixed her with a look that demanded she tell him what she knew as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.

She set her jaw. "Fire," she said. "But not just any fire – _Fiendfyre._ Only something that evil is powerful enough to consume something equally so.

"You understand what that means?"

He did. They could kill the beast, but not without killing themselves in the process. There was no shield, no magic in existence that could protect them from the magical inferno that would result. Unless …

With no time to explain, Harry grabbed Hermione's hand. Their eyes met and she answered his silent question – do you trust me? – with a tiny inclination of her chin.

"Now!" Ignoring the stabbing pain in his chest as his fractured ribs collided with vital organs, Hermione dropped her shield and they both sprinted _towards_ the draugr.

Stunned by their audacity, the draugr was a heartbeat slower than was its norm in reacting to them, it's heavy sword fracturing the stone at their heels as they sped forwards.

"Down!" Pulling them both down into a slide that would not have appeared out of place on a baseball field, Harry directed a silent blasting spell straight upwards as they slid between the twin trunks that were the draugr's legs.

Directed not at the giant, but at the rocky celling high overhead, Harry's aim was sure and true, the spell sizzling past the giant's chest as it soared straight past it before slamming into the cavern's roof.

Following its course with its clouded gaze, the draugr's head snapped up; just in time to see the countless tons of rock and debris dislodged by Harry's spell crashing down on top of it. Pummelled by rocks and great boulders alike, the creature let loose its most terrible cry to date, but Harry felt no satisfaction in the knowledge that he had wounded it – he had bought them a few seconds at most.

Swallowing hard, he focused all of his magical energies on the darkness that existed within even the most virtuous of beings – only there could he find the energy to summon a power so terrible as fiendfyre.

In his mind's eye he could see his wickedness – the very part of him that he had earlier forced aside – represented as a small dark flame. Too small, he realised with a start. Knowing instinctively what he must do, he drove his consciousness deeper, seeking the very emotions he had tried for so long to subdue: anger, hurt, resentment and many more he could not even assign a name.

Finally, with his every dark thought or deed laid bare, Harry spoke the incantation that would surely spell the end for any creature – living or dead – that inhabited the vast underground space.

Instantly, white hot flames, more powerful than anything he had experienced before, belched from the tip of his wand.

Like storm waters coursing through a long dry river bed, the roiling inferno, apparently needing neither fuel nor catalyst to endure, engulfed the cavern in flame quicker than the human eye could track. "Don't stop!" he yelled quite unnecessarily, his lungs burning as he forced his legs to keep pounding towards their one hope of salvation – the lake.

"We'll never make it!" screamed Hermione, his intended destination now self evident.

It appeared that she was to be correct:

No more than fifteen feet from the shoreline a wall of fire sprang into existence, encircling them – trapping them. But, having come too far to be denied now, Harry did not even break stride. In one fluid motion he directed his wand at their feet and yelled: "Desillo!"

Suddenly they were flying or, perhaps more accurately, _leaping_ over the fire, the ground pushing them away as if sprung like a diving board. Fingers of flame licked at their clothing as they arced over the danger before plunging into the icy cold waters once more.

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><p>When they finally emerged from the water several minutes later, their teeth chattering from the cold, the only evidence that remained of the ferocious fire that had raged in the cavern were the two piles of ash – one small, one much larger – that lay near the rockfall Harry's blasting curse had dislodged.<p>

Numb with shock, Hermione administered the requisite warming and drying charms without really registering she had done so. She still couldn't quite believe they had survived.

Harry was the first to speak: "We still need to find a way out of here."

"Well there's air," answered Hermione, grateful of something to put her mind to work on – a busy mind could not dwell on what might have been. Starved of oxygen, the fire had quickly burnt itself out yet, it was indisputable, that the air they were now breathing was hardly oxygen deficient. She said as much aloud before adding: "It must be coming from somewhere."

Harry made a face that Hermione recognised from school when he thought a piece of homework too arduous to contemplate. "You're saying we should just grope along the walls looking for where the fresh air is coming in?"

Parting her lips with the intention of challenging to come up with a better plan, one such plan appeared in her mind as if it had been plucked from the cosmos and placed there by some omnipotent super being.

"Or we could just use this," she said, rearranging her lips and producing Carrow's confiscated wand from the waistband of her trousers.

"Prior incantatem!" exclaimed Harry, catching on.

Less than two minutes later, Harry and Hermione found themselves walking down a musty, torch lit corridor, heretofore hidden by a charm similar to the one that prevented muggles from being able to see the Leaky Cauldron in London.

Too narrow too walk side by side, Hermione had fallen into step behind Harry, the rhythmic sound of their footfalls on the roughly new stone staircase almost in time to the metronomic drip drip drip of nearby water leeching through the rock. Not that Hermione was consciously aware of that sound. Instead, with the adrenaline of the battle now leaving her system, her mind clearer than at any point since she had regained consciousness in the cavern, she considered a question she had been unable to provide a logical answer for at the time.

"How did you know?" The words were past her lips before she could so much as register she had spoken them aloud.

"Huh?" threw back Harry over his shoulder.

"I was just wondering how you knew which way to go?"

"You mean back in the lake?" he asked, so familiar with the way Hermione's mind worked that he was able to understand her apparent non-sequitur immediately.

Hermione hummed in agreement.

"Oh that … I didn't."

Hermione stared incredulously at the back of his head. _He guessed? Our lives were on the line and he guessed?_

Furious though she was, that initial reaction quickly subsided as she recognised that his actions were both the only reason she drew breath and everything that she had come to expect from him. In fact, his ability to think fast and throw caution to the wind when necessary was one of the things she most loved about him.

_And you do love him, don't you Hermione,_ demanded her inner voice, seizing upon the admission of the very thing she had tried to deny: She was in love with Harry Potter.

However, no sooner had she come to that startling revelation, Harry came to an abrupt stop in front of her, her breath driven out of her lungs on a soft exhalation of air – oooof! – any thoughts of a romantic nature driven from her mind just as thoroughly as she leant to one side to see what it was that had brought Harry to a halt.

_The Mirror!_

It stood on a small plinth of stone in a roughly ovoid space no larger than her dormitory back at Hogwarts had been, every detail, from the hue of its ancient timbers, to the dwarfish script that embellished it's plain frame, exactly as she remembered.

But that was not all she saw. Knelt on the floor in front of it, her nose almost pressed against its smooth glass, a figure from her past that Hermione had never, even in her wildest imaginings, expected to lay eyes on again.

"Bellatrix Lestrange?"

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><em><strong>AN ~<strong> I already have a few hundred words for the next chapter, so hopefully there won't be such a long delay before my next update._

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><p><strong>Recap<strong>

_**Chapter one** - Hermione finds herself addicted to the mirror of erised which taunts her with images of the thing she most desires._

_**Chapter two **- Harry and Ron race to find Hermione who is missing. They locate her moments too late and watch helplessly as Hermione is pulled into the mirror._

_**Chapter three** - Hermione travels through the multiverse, landing in the world where her heart's desire has come to pass._

_**Chapter four** - We learn that Hermione's desire is not, as we had been lead to believe, Harry, but instead her younger sister who died as an infant. In this world she is alive and well and engaged to Ron, a discovery that leads to Hermione running away._

_**Chapter five** - Hermione confesses the truth of her origins to Harry who promises to help her return home. In return, Hermione swears to help Harry find his own version of Hermione whom we learn he is in love with._

_**Chapter six** - We learn that Roslaine's survival in this universe has altered the timeline considerably. Perhaps most notably, Ginny Weasley was killed in the Chamber of Secrets in 1993 leading to Voldemort's resurrection far earlier than in canon. The chapter concludes with the arrival of a furious looking Rosaline Granger._

_**Chapter Seven** - Rosaline's anger with Harry is quickly abated when Ron arrives and interrupts their prank. Harry reveals a little of the plan that will occupy his and Hermione's time with Rosaline reminding him of the surprise party she had organised for Hermione for the next day._

_**Chapter Eight** - Hermione and Harry attends a lavish Birthday party in her honour at the burrow where celebration turns into disaster. Caught up in the moment, Hermione wonders what it would be like to kiss her best friend, she and Harry sharing their first kiss on the crowded dance floor. Feeling as though she has just made a terrible mistake, Hermione flees the party leaving a guilt ridden Harry to face the music alone._

_**Chapter Nine** - Harry finds Hermione in the derelict Umbrella Cottage, the marital home she shared with Ron. Intending to apologise for kissing her, Hermione surprises him by making that apology herself. Their friendship repaired, Hermione returns to Hogwarts to take her alter ego's place as transfiguration teacher. The chapter ends with Harry leaving for Germany to investigate a possible lead on the Mirror of Erised._

_**Chapter Ten -** Hemione accompanies Harry to a cave system in Germany where Harry believes Death Eaters may have hidden the mirror. Each grapple with their feelings for one another, with Harry being the first to recognise those feeling as love. Following a night in a local hotel, the duo return to the cave the next day where they discover an underwater staircase they realise they must follow._

_**Chapter Eleven** – Shortly after boarding a magical staircase that would carry them to the depths of the underground lake, Harry and Hermione pass through an unidentified haze. Evidently a security feature of some sort, the haze strips them of their magical protections. A frantic race to the surface followed in which Hermione nearly drowned. The chapter concludes as Hermione regains consciousness just in time to save Harry from an attack by an unknown figure but not before he can summon a draugr – an undead warrior – to kill them both. _


	13. Chapter 13

_**AN ~** Ok, so the last chapter wasn't all that great, but I think this one is actually pretty good. See what you think. Thanks to the lovely Mistress Leigh and Lorien829 for their sterling work as betas. As ever, the recap is at the bottom of the page._

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>

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><p>And it was.<p>

Bellatrix Lestrange: the woman who had been Voldemort's most trusted lieutenant, the woman who had stolen Harry's godfather from him, murdered him in cold blood, the woman who had tortured her for information during her brief incarceration at Malfoy Manor, the woman who, in her world at least, had been dead for more than six years.

But this, Hermione saw, was not that person. At one time, perhaps, but the woman now knelt before her was little more than a shadow of the depraved, yet undeniably powerful witch she had faced down on more occasions than she wished to recall.

Diminished, almost as gaunt and grey as the draugr had been, this version of Bellatrix Lestrange more closely resembled a captive animal, the slight sway in her shoulders, neck and head exhibiting all the symptoms of stereotypy as she stared unblinking at the mirror. Several of her teeth were missing and her hair, long, matted and liberally flecked with grey, was gnarled into clumps by some sort of congealed substance that had once been food. She was also muttering incessantly but, either the words were incomprehensible or Hermione was simply too far any to glean their meaning.

It was at that moment that Bellatrix finally seemed registered that her solitude had been interrupted and she twisted towards them, her physical deterioration even more stark now than it had been in profile. Painfully thin, her cheeks an arid swale set between the stark topography of her jaw and cheek bones, the former Death Eater peered at them from beneath the hood of her heavy brows, her jaundiced eyes holding not even a hint of recognition in them.

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy: no sentient creature, no matter how wicked, deserved to lose the very essence of themselves in such a way. It was a pain she could relate to only too well.

Not that she was permitted even a moment to dwell on the memory of her own weakness to the mirror's magic.

Finally deciphering the identity of the interlopers into her private sanctum, or else driven by some feral need to defend her territory (Hermione supposed it did not matter which), with a speed of movement that was quite unexpected for one so frail, Bellatrix released an animalistic cry of fury and made a lunge for them, her boney hands outstretched like talons, her wand, visible in the holster strapped to her wrist, either ignored or, perhaps more likely, completely forgotten.

"Stupefy!"

The hex rang out in stereo as both Harry and Hermione felled the once feared Death Eater with no more difficulty than dispatching a Hogwarts First Year. As battles went, it was perhaps the most anti-climatic of Hermione's life. Not that she was complaining. She'd had quite enough excitement for one day, thank you very much.

"Get her wand." Obviously still expecting resistance, Harry kept his wand trained on Bellatrix's crumpled form.

Electing to pass up the opportunity to point out that she was not his subordinate, Hermione stepped forwarded, recovered Bellatrix's weapon – the same hateful wand she had been forced to use towards the end of the war – and, having no desire to touch it for longer than was strictly necessary, deposited it into one of her pockets.

"What happened to her?" Harry wondered aloud as Hermione retreated a few steps back to his side, her free hand slipping into his before she could consciously register the motion.

The question that sparked his curiosity brought a veil of shadow to her features. She knew exactly what had happened to once powerful Bellatrix Lestrange. It was the same fate that had befallen her.

"It was the mirror," she said, suppressing a shiver at the very notion of sharing anything, even a most tenuous of link, with the monster laying before her. "It's addictive. People have wasted away in front of it, remember?"

As Harry nodded his recollection of the words once spoken by his former headmaster, Hermione stepped forward and, mindful not to allow her eye to be drawn into the mirror's depths once more, conjured a large canvass tarpaulin which she draped gracefully over the ancient device.

"I didn't want either of us to be tempted," she said by way of explanation, recalling both her own weakness to its call, and the far off, almost greedy look that had contorted the boyish features of his eleven year old self when he had related the mirror's function to her all those years ago.

Like a shadow of a bird flying high above a field, a strange expression, that Hermione could not immediately place, passed over Harry's face – was it disappointment?

'Good plan," he agreed after no more than a heartbeat, his gaze shifting back down to the wasted form at his feet.

Despite being hit by two stunning spells simultaneously, Bellatrix's pale and cracked lips were still moving, still mouthing the same formerly unintelligible words she had been chanting at the moment of their first arrival: "I can s-see him. H-he has risen. Immortal. Unending. He will come f-for me. He will come for me."

"One guess what the mirror showed her," said Harry, his expression warring somewhere between disgust and pity.

Hermione's chest tightened painfully. Was this how she had looked trapped in the mirror's thrall? Had she been this broken? This pathetic? "Voldemort," she managed, forcing her voice to betray none of her conflicting emotions.

"There's no way to know for certain," agreed Harry, the conversational tone in his voice suggesting he was thus far unaware of her inner torment. "But I think it's a fair bet. It must have driven her mad not knowing if what she saw could ever be made real."

Hermione felt something inside her break. She had always considered herself stronger – _better?_ – than the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange. And yet here, in the wretched form of the woman sprawled before her, Hermione had indisputable, empirical evidence that she was in fact no different that those she so despised.

Felling an inexplicable urge to defend Bellatrix – to defend herself – Hermione was speaking before she was even aware of it, her words spilling past her lips on a stream of consciousness.

"At first she would have tried to study it," she said. "Learnt everything she could about it in the hope that she could somehow find a way to make the visions the mirror offered her a reality.

"Perhaps she had help in the beginning," she continued, her mind recalling how Paige Kogan, her assistant back at the Ministry, had tried to cover for her own increasingly erratic behaviour during the earliest months of her growing obsession with the mirror. "But either she pushed them away or, as their efforts failed to yield any meaningful results, one by one they left her, until only the youngest and most impressionable," she added, thinking of the pile of ash upstairs that was all that remained of Mimas Carrow, "still believed in her work.

"Not that she believed in it anymore." Her voice was a flat monotone now. "She locked herself away down here – away from her work, away from the world, away from everything – so that she could feed her addiction. She didn't care about unravelling the the mysteries of the mirror anymore, she didn't care if her desires could ever become real, she didn't care about anything …"

The shiver that she had earlier managed to suppress now shuddered through her entire body, it's icy fingers groping at her chest, her lungs, her breath catching in her throat with an audible gasp that was almost a sob. This was all hitting too close to home.

"Hey!" Instantly Harry was by her side, his free arm pulling her close. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

Hermione bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to give her mind something else to focus on. She couldn't lose control like this in front of him. She had always tried to been strong for him.

"I … I …" She faltered, her voice fading to nothing. It was no use. Unable to say another word, she buried her face into Harry's shoulder and balled her fist into his shirt, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks.

If her sudden loss of emotional equilibrium made him feel uncomfortable, Harry didn't let it show. Gathering her fully into his arms so that his chin came to rest atop her still slightly damp hair, Harry maintained a protective hold on her with one hand whilst the other moved in soothing circles across the small of her back.

How long they stayed like this, Harry's hushed words of comfort washing across her, Hermione could not say, but after a time, when both her breathing had slowed and her tears had run dry, Hermione felt Harry's upper body and head shift back slightly. He was obviously trying to get her to meet his eye.

Fractionally lifting her chin, Hermione could see herself, puffy eyed and blotchy, reflected in the depths of Harry's concerned gaze.

"Is this … Is that what happened to you?" he wanted to know, his eyes shifting briefly towards the still unconscious Lestrange.

Her throat a tightly clenched fist, Hermione could only answer by means of a small nod.

"And then it just brought you here?"

Hermione closed her eyes and drew down one last breath of his familiar and comforting scent. "I don't understand it very well myself," she managed, her voice small as she pushed it past the painful lump that remained in her throat, "but my observations indicate that the mirror will only act as a portal once the subject has severed all attachments to their world.

"Who knows," she added, parting her tear soaked lashes to meet Harry's steady gaze once more, "if we hadn't come in when we did, perhaps the mirror would have done the same for Bellatrix."

The muscles of Harry's face tightened. "So you're saying there is a universe out there somewhere where Voldemort actually won?"

Hermione considered his question for all of two seconds: "I would think it more unbelievable if there weren't."

"I guess," accepted Harry, deferring to her authority on such matters. "Doesn't mean I have to like it, though."

At that, Hermione managed a weak smile. Not content with saving his own universe, she could see in his face that he would readily charge through the looking glass if it meant freeing another.

"Would it help to talk about it?" Harry continued. "Only if you want to, of course," he added hurriedly.

Parting her lips to decline, Hermione was as surprised as anyone when she said: "Actually, it might.

"But not with you looking like that," she amended quickly and she tipped her brow towards his battered and bloodied face.

Harry gingerly raised his fingertips to his philtrum, pulling them away tacky with partially congealed blood. "I must look a right mess."

"You've looked worse," came Hermione's immediate response, her lips arranging themselves into a lopsided smile that felt almost natural. "Here," she added, removing herself from the curl of his arms and directing the tip of her wand at his face. "Episkey."

A crack of cartilage followed quickly by a yelp of commingled surprise and discomfort filled the air.

"Honestly!" Hermione openly rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be such a baby. You'd think you would be used to it by now. How many times have you broken it? Three? Four?"

"Counting today?" countered Harry waspishly. "Once."

Hermione's lips formed a perfect circle. "Oh." The easy repertoire that existed between them had briefly permitted her to forget the reason for her emotional distress. "I keep forgetting how much is different here …"

Sensing the sudden return of her malaise, Harry's response was instantaneous: "But there is plenty that's not," he said and he cupped her under the chin and lifted her downcast eyes to meet his again knowing she would understand that he spoke of their friendship. "The offer still stands," he added. "If you need to talk ..."

"Thank you, Harry," replied Hermione, blinking furiously to control a fresh wave of tears that threatened to breech her fragile defences. "But what about her?" and she nodded her head towards the still muttering Bellatrix.

"I don't think she's going anywhere." he said, before adding: "But just to make sure ..."

Allowing his actions to serve as the conclusion to his statement, Harry sent a third and silent spell towards the now unmoving former Death Eater, thick ropes ensnaring her in their snake-like coils for good measure.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Harry gestured to the ground. "Shall we?"

With nowhere else to sit, Hermione agreed and dropped to the ground, her legs folded beneath her. "I'm not sure where to start," she admitted, her gaze focused on her hands wringing in her lap.

"At the beginning, I guess," suggested Harry settling into a far more relaxed posture on the uneven stone in front of her.

Though a rather obvious answer, Hermione found that doing so did help to clear her clouded thoughts. She told him, although she had already alluded to as much in several previous conversations, how she had found the mirror amongst a seizure of dark artefacts recovered from the continent. Furthermore she told him, and she had never admitted this much aloud to anyone before, how she had effectively stolen it, motivated by some indescribable need that she could still not fully articulate. Finally, she told him how it had slowly consumed her, her every waking moment spent in its presence until finally, the portal had opened and brought her here.

Throughout her explanation, Harry had remained largely silent, choosing instead to offer support by means of an encouraging smile here or, as he'd done when her voice had faltered as she recalled how she had been all but forcibly torn from her own reality, by taking her hand in his, his thumb skimming soothingly across her knuckles.

Now though, he did speak, a thoughtful expression pulling at his brow as she finished her story by bringing it up to the present day: "And what was it that the mirror showed you?"

"Rosaline," she replied simply.

The same ghost of an emotion flickered across his face. Definitely disappointment, she noted, although disappointment at what, she could not say. Unsure what to do with that piece of information, Hermione filled it away and continued.

"Actually, I didn't realise it was my sister at first. She was so young when she died that I didn't really have any memories of her, but it was the eyes ... I was constantly drawn to her eyes and that's when I knew that the mirror was showing me my sister as a grown woman."

By this point, Harry had schooled his features to betray none of his inner feelings, his expression now projecting a thoughtful concern once more. "So I guess that leaves only one question," he said. "What are you going to do now?"

Though she opened her lips to answer his question with conviction, Hermione hesitated, her front teeth worrying at her bottom lip. _What am I going to do now?_

On the one hand, this whole endeavour – confiding in and enlisting Harry's assistance, travelling to Germany, battling Death Eaters and Draugar alike – had been with the sole intention of returning to her rightful home. But now that she stood of the cusp of that goal, Hermione found that she could no longer be certain where that home might be.

She could not deny for a second that she loved the life her counterpart had built here – she loved teaching, she loved her circle of friends and, most importantly, she loved the relationship she had nurtured with Rosaline – but, on the other hand, nor could she deny that this was not her life. Assuming for a moment that her own arrival in this universe had not simply overwritten – _irradiated?_ – her alternate-self from existence, surely it was her _duty_ to at least try to set things right? The thought of her alter ego, trapped, completely alone in another word, perhaps even some sort of inter-dimensional void, was almost too much for her to bear.

And then there was Ron. _To death us do part._ She had said those words once. Meant them too. Was she ready turn her back on her marriage to pursue this ... this whatever it was with Harry? Despite the obvious attraction between them, would he reciprocate? Would it last? Or would a part of him always wonder what might have been? Forever hung up on the person she could never be no matter how alike they were in outward appearance.

Decision made, brown eyes met green and she gave her answer: "I have to go back." It was the only logical choice.

To Harry, the words were like a hammer blow to his chest but he forced himself to smile regardless. He had always know he would have to let her go and she didn't need him guilting over her decision.

"And I'll help you."

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><p><strong>TBC...<strong>

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><p><em><strong>AN ~ <strong>Just one more chapter to go, folks. Lets see if I can tie everything together in a nice, neat bow._

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><p><strong>Recap<strong>

_**Chapter one**__ - Hermione finds herself addicted to the mirror of erised which taunts her with images of the thing she most desires._

_**Chapter two **__- Harry and Ron race to find Hermione who is missing. They locate her moments too late and watch helplessly as Hermione is pulled into the mirror._

_**Chapter three**__ - Hermione travels through the multiverse, landing in the world where her heart's desire has come to pass._

_**Chapter four**__ - We learn that Hermione's desire is not, as we had been lead to believe, Harry, but instead her younger sister who died as an infant. In this world she is alive and well and engaged to Ron, a discovery that leads to Hermione running away._

_**Chapter five**__ - Hermione confesses the truth of her origins to Harry who promises to help her return home. In return, Hermione swears to help Harry find his own version of Hermione whom we learn he is in love with._

_**Chapter six**__ - We learn that Roslaine's survival in this universe has altered the timeline considerably. Perhaps most notably, Ginny Weasley was killed in the Chamber of Secrets in 1993 leading to Voldemort's resurrection far earlier than in canon. The chapter concludes with the arrival of a furious looking Rosaline Granger._

_**Chapter Seven**__ - Rosaline's anger with Harry is quickly abated when Ron arrives and interrupts their prank. Harry reveals a little of the plan that will occupy his and Hermione's time with Rosaline reminding him of the surprise party she had organised for Hermione for the next day._

_**Chapter Eight**__ - Hermione and Harry attends a lavish Birthday party in her honour at the burrow where celebration turns into disaster. Caught up in the moment, Hermione wonders what it would be like to kiss her best friend, she and Harry sharing their first kiss on the crowded dance floor. Feeling as though she has just made a terrible mistake, Hermione flees the party leaving a guilt ridden Harry to face the music alone._

_**Chapter Nine**__ - Harry finds Hermione in the derelict Umbrella Cottage, the marital home she shared with Ron. Intending to apologise for kissing her, Hermione surprises him by making that apology herself. Their friendship repaired, Hermione returns to Hogwarts to take her alter ego's place as transfiguration teacher. The chapter ends with Harry leaving for Germany to investigate a possible lead on the Mirror of Erised._

_**Chapter Ten -**__ Hemione accompanies Harry to a cave system in Germany where Harry believes Death Eaters may have hidden the mirror. Each grapple with their feelings for one another, with Harry being the first to recognise those feeling as love. Following a night in a local hotel, the duo return to the cave the next day where they discover an underwater staircase they realise they must follow._

_**Chapter Eleven**__ – Shortly after boarding a magical staircase that would carry them to the depths of the underground lake, Harry and Hermione pass through an unidentified haze. Evidently a security feature of some sort, the haze strips them of their magical protections. A frantic race to the surface followed in which Hermione nearly drowned. The chapter concludes as Hermione regains consciousness just in time to save Harry from an attack by an unknown figure but not before he can summon a draugr – an undead warrior – to kill them both._

_**Chapter Twelve **__– Following a battle that claimed the lives of both Mimas Carrow and the Draugr, Harry and Hermione use Carrow's confiscated wand to find a hidden passageway. Upon following it, they discover a cave that not only houses the Mirror of Erised, but also Bellatrix Lestrange. _


	14. Chapter 14

**AN ~ **_Well this is it everyone. This is the end. Hopefully you will find this a fitting end to this little tale. A huge thank you to both Mistress Leigh, who has been my beta since day one of this story, and Lorien829, without whom this would have never developed beyond the little ficlet it was. Thanks girls :) _

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><p><strong>'Desire'<strong>

**by Witherwings**

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><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>

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><p>October had quickly given way to November, the warm caress of the summer just past long since banished to memory by the icy fist of a cruel and indifferent northerly wind. Seemingly untroubled by the trifling defences afforded against it by either the thick winter cloaks worn by all the students at this time of year, the countless heavy tapestries that adorned every conceivable patch of bare stonework, or even the eight foot thick castle walls, such was the power of the arctic chill that, even several hours before curfew, the corridors of the ancient school were all but deserted.<p>

Shoulders hunched against the biting cold, Harry strode the familiar corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in silence, his mechanical stride carrying him towards the office that had once belonged to Professor McGonagall, its previous steward having vacated it in favour of the school's incumbent transfiguration teacher.

_Hermione._

A familiar knot of despair twisted deep within his chest at the very thought of the woman he seemed doomed to love only from afar and he paused at an open window that overlooked the lake to compose himself. He couldn't let her see him like this.

Though at least an hour away by his reckoning, dusk was already settling over the castle grounds like a balm, the low hanging flotilla of clouds devouring the last of the sun's rays; what little natural light remained, cold and grey like the churning surface of the Great Lake far below.

As had become something of a nervous habit of late, Harry was dimly aware that his fingers were once again worrying at the smooth curve of the one item he possessed that had formerly belonged to his mother. Why he had taken to carrying it with him everywhere these past few weeks, he could not say – rationally he knew he was in no danger of needing it – yet nor could he deny that the simple act of keeping it near, of turning it end over end between thumb and fore-finger, had given him the strength to fulfil the promise he had made to Hermione a little more than month ago.

A month. It had been little more than a month – thirty-four days in fact – since Germany. A month since their ordeal beneath the surface of that frigid underground lake, a month since they had successfully defeated the draugr and found the mirror. Bellatrix Lestrange now awaited the trial for her crimes from the comfort of her Azkaban cell. It seemed almost impossible that it had been such a short flight of days since he had finally come to accept the depth of his feelings towards this new version of his best friend, since his heart had been shattered into a thousand pieces as he vowed to let her go, to help her return to her own reality. He'd promised, even though the very thought of losing her made him sick to his stomach. He'd promised, even though his life would be like a bird denied the sky without her.

A bellicose bark swirled though the air, the sudden sound pulling him from his thoughts most morose. A web of fine lines fanned out from the corner of his eyes as he squinted into the gale in an effort to identify its source.

As synonymous with Hogwarts as its four founders, Harry's gaze quickly settled on the two utterly unmistakable forms of Hagrid and his boarhound, Fang, the latter far behind, but bounding happily through the shallows as he gave chase to one of the Giant Squid's many arms.

Already half way across the waterlogged lawn, Hagrid paused, the several animal pelts hung over his shoulder swaying to and fro as he turned in place to face the lake. "Come on, yeh dozy mutt," came his gruff yet somehow jovial voice, the wind causing his words to overlap and collide with one another on the journey from the sloping lawns to Harry's ear. "Catch yer death out 'ere, yeh will. Let's get inside an' warm up."

With a last glance at the water that Harry could only describe as longing, the great black dog lumbered up the bank before trotting after its master who had already resumed his course towards the warmth and shelter on offer in their unimposing hut set on the edge of the forest

Though unsolicited, and most certainly not directed towards him, Harry noted that it was indeed sage advice: he needed to get out of the cold himself.

Patting his breast pocket to assure himself that his prize possession was still safely nestled there, Harry turned up his collar, thrust his hands deep within his trouser pockets and resumed his steady pace towards Hermione's office.

No less brilliant that her counterpart from this world, Hermione, freed from the hypnotic effects of the mirror, had made swift progress in deciphering the magical mechanisms at work in the mirror. In fact, although he often followed less than one word in ten of her explanation of the mirror's magical properties, Harry had the distinct impression that she could have completed her work weeks ago.

He shook his head to banish the nascent thought._ Wistful thinking,_ he told himself. He believed he had known her long enough, one version of her at least, to recognise the look of eager anticipation in her eye – the one that made her face light up in a way that he so adored – when she believed she was on the cusp of a major breakthrough.

No, she was leaving him; worse than that, she was _happy_ about it. Furthermore, if he had understood the patronus she had sent him not fifteen minutes ago correctly, it would happen today

Ooof!

It was at that moment, completely lost in thought, that Harry collided with something – _someone_ – very solid, the impact driving all of the breath from his lungs and sending him crashing to the floor amongst a blizzard of parchment he had evidently knocked from the other person's grasp.

"Oh!" exclaimed a familiar voice.

Dazed, Harry lifted his chin towards the speaker whose wide, grey eyes regarded him in a manner that was amusement and mild annoyance in equal measures.

"Sorry, Luna," he mumbled, pushing himself into a sitting position. "I didn't see you there … probably all the wrackspurts, right?" he added with an attempt at a self-deprecating smile.

Luna blinked, her head cocked slightly to the side in a way that always made Harry feel bad, like she was trying to decide if she was being teased or not. "Don't be silly, Harry" she said after a beat, a warm smile spreading across her features that Harry took to indicate she believed the latter. "Everyone knows that wrackspurts are hibernating at this time of year."

Now a genuine smile did pull at Harry's lips. "Here," he said scrambling to his feet and retrieving his wand. "Let me help you with these," the dozen of so pieces of parchment immediately sailing into his arms. "Working them hard, professor?" he teased. The paper on the top of the pile had been graded T.

Of all those who had fought alongside him during the war, Luna Lovegood was perhaps the least obvious candidate for the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Nevertheless, after three years in the role, the eccentric former Ravenclaw had proven herself to be an exceptional, if rather unconventional choice: O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. grades at their highest levels in nearly twenty years.

Luna gave a tight smile, her eyes taking on the same hard look she had developed at some point during the war. "It's the only way they'll learn.

"Actually," she continued, her stern expression vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, "perhaps you could help me. I was just on my way to teach a remedial defence class. I'm sure your input would prove most valuable to my students."

There it was; the perfect opportunity. He could go with Luna, share his considerable experience with her class and, no doubt impatient to return to her own world, Hermione would be gone by the time he got back. Better for him. Better for everybody.

"No." Like shifting sands, the moment was fleeting. Choosing to go with Luna would only delay the inevitable. Hermione wouldn't leave without at least saying goodbye, and he knew that, deep down, he couldn't let her go without seeing her again. Just one last time.

Besides, if Hermione's theories proved correct regarding the impossibility of two versions of herself existing in one universe simultaneously, the other Hermione – the Hermione born to this world – should return the moment she left. He couldn't abandon her either.

He cleared his throat. "What I mean is," he amended, realising his had been rather rude, "sorry Luna. I'm here to help Hermione. Maybe another time?"

To his eternal surprise, Luna actually brightened at that. "Oh good," she said, her eyes wandering across him in that vaguely disinterested manner that made him feel as if she were looking _through_ him rather than at him. "It was lovely for her to visit, but I know she has been feeling rather … displaced recently. She needs to find someplace she belongs."

_Visit?_

_Displaced?_

_Belongs?_

All of these words formed on his lips but, though his mouth opened to voice one, or perhaps all of them at once, Harry found that he could find no words to express his disbelief. _She knows? _His eyes widened._ She knows!_

But how could that be?Aside from Hermione, he knew that he was the only other person who knew the truth of how she had come to find herself in an world that was both familiar and yet simultaneously so alien. As certain as he was that he had not allowed her secret to slip, he was equally sure that Hermione would not have said anything either.

Finally Harry found his voice: "How did you know?"

Again, Luna smiled. Not the tight smile of a hardened war veteran from earlier, but the almost wistful smile of the innocent girl she had once been. A girl who was willing to believe in all manner of fantastical things without even so much as a shred of evidence.

"Oh Harry." She cupped his cheek with her free hand, "it's as plain as the nose on your face."

If he expected her to elaborate, he was to be sorely disappointed. As if to shake off the effects of a head rush, suddenly she blinked, dropped her hand back to her side and bade him farewell.

So surprised was he by this abrupt change, it took Harry until she had almost disappeared around a corner to call after her.

She paused, her long hair still billowing behind her as if she were still in motion. "Wish her luck for me," she added, an enigmatic smile pulling her lips into a slight curve. "Whatever she decides ... "

Leaving no time for Harry to so much as formulate a reply she was gone, her last words repeating endlessly in his mind.

* * *

><p>Satisfied with her preparations, Hermione placed her wand on her desk and folded her arms across her chest. There was nothing left to do now but wait.<p>

Not that she needed to wait long.

She had no sooner completed her work when a familiar rhythm – one long beat followed closely by three shorter ones – reached her ears.

_Harry!_ She would know that knock anywhere and her insides fizzed like a bottle of pumpkin pop at the mere thought of him.

Already certain of the identity of her caller, Hermione swiped her wand from the table, the warmth of her grip still present on it's ornate handle, disabled the extensive protections she had erected around her office and stepped forward to pull the door open.

"Sorry," she said, lifting her eyes from the door handle to meet his. She had intended to apologise for making him wait, however, such was the intensity of his gaze – twin pools of obsidian surrounded by a narrow band of green – that her words seemed suddenly meaningless, unimportant; the happy bubble that filled her chest bursting as she was reminded of her reason for calling him here tonight: she was leaving.

A charged silence filled the room. More than the simple absence of sound, this was expectant, like the breath between verse and chorus. Each of them aware that they were on the cusp of something beautiful, if only one of them would sing the next line.

_Where's your Gryffindor courage now, Hermione?_ taunted her inner voice as the moment passed and she stepped aside to allow Harry to enter the room.

"You patronus said you had found something?"

"Oh!" Hermione's exclamation was little more than an exhaled breath. She hated how flustered she sounded. "I mean yes, yes I did."

Closing the door behind her, she focused on Harry's question. If she could keep her mind occupied she wouldn't have to think about how painful it was going to be to leave him.

"You remember how I told you that the mirror was based around essentially the same magic employed by the Room of Requirement?" Harry, who had perched himself on the edge of her desk, nodded his recollection. "Well," she continued, drawing out the single word to allow her time to construct a sentence that would explain her findings in a manner that would not require a degree in advanced charms to understand, "I've discovered that the connection goes far deeper than that. Not only are both able to read and interpret their subjects' minds, both can act as an inter-dimensional gateway."

Harry's brow knit together. "You're joking?"

"I'll admit it does sound a little far fetched," she accepted. "But just think about it for a moment ... where, for example, do all of the things stored in the Room of Hidden Things _go_ when the room transforms into another form?" Harry did not answer, his lips pursed together as he considered her question. "Well I'll tell you," continued Hermione, the cadence of her speech quickening in a way that she had never learnt to control. She sounded like an over-eager schoolgirl again. "They haven't gone anywhere, they're still there just ... unavailable."

Registering the confusion that now coloured Harry's features, Hermione tried a different tack. She moved closer to the still veiled mirror. "Think of it like a station," she began. "Just because the points are set for the train to arrive at one particular platform, doesn't mean all the other platforms suddenly cease to exist – "

Harry's face brightened. "They're just only available one at a time," he put in, catching on.

"Exactly," exclaimed Hermione happily, the joy she felt whenever she imparted knowledge briefly tempering what she knew that knowledge would lead to. "Each room continues to exist within its own dimension, totally inaccessible to us, unless we have a need for it.

"Once I figured that out, it was actually fairly simple to identify which spell allowed the room to differentiate between a person's conscious and subconscious desires. All I have to do now is cast the same spell on the mirror and ... " Hermione's voice trailed away as quickly as the child-like enthusiasm in Harry's expression.

"So you've done it then?" he wanted to know. "You've solved it?" He pushed up from his perch and moved so close that their chests were all but touching. "You're leaving."

Her tongue suddenly a balled up sock in her mouth, Hermione could only offer a weak nod. There was no delaying it any longer. "There's just one last thing I have to do before I do," she managed to add.

Though she had been unable to avoid the pain that came hand-in-hand with her decision to leave this version her best friend forever, she had been able to spare herself at least some of the same when it came to her sister. She had purposefully ensured that their interactions were as infrequent and brief as possible over the last month. Yet now, with her time in this world coming to a close, and with no means of transporting an photograph or a keepsake of her back home, she knew she could not leave without seeing her one last time.

Without a word, she turned towards the mirror, pointed her wand at the heavy tarpaulin and vanished it.

Harry's hand immediately landed on her shoulder. "Are you sure?" he asked, his concern for her well being unspoken, but nevertheless understood.

She closed her eyes and released a breath. "I am."

Slowly, haltingly, as if against his better judgement, Harry released his grip on her shoulder allowing her, for the first time in nearly two months, to step in front of the mirror.

For a long moment Hermione kept her eyes shut, her pupils flickering under her lids, as if darting over an unseen landscape. Finally, after what could have been hours, she opened them and looked upon the mirror, a sharp intake of breath hissing across her teeth as she did so.

The image had changed. No longer did she regard the piercing gaze of the sister she had never known, but instead a pair of brown eyes, full of curiosity stared back at her from the mirror's depths. Pretty, in an understated way, a mane of wild curls spilling onto shoulders clad in grey robes, Hermione's brow furrowed as she recognised her own reflection.

_"The happiest man on earth would look into the mirror and see only himself, exactly as he is."_

The words once spoken by Albus Dumbledore chose that moment to push themselves to the forefront of her mind. It was also at that same moment that she noticed one small difference between herself and her counterpart looking back at her: a golden band offset by a glittering diamond.

"Yes." The word was carried forward on a soft sigh; behind her, she felt Harry move closer.

"What did you say?"

Twisting on the spot, her eyes alive with wonder, Hermione threw herself into his arms. "Yes!" she shouted. "Yes, yes, yes!" and she claimed his lips with her own.

Not the halting, nervous kiss between friends who might be lovers, this was needy, desperate, the sort of kiss that could only be shared between two people who knew they had wasted too much precious time ignoring the truth that had been staring them in the face the whole time.

Momentarily stunned, Harry's eyes slid shut and he deepened the kiss, his hands snaking underneath her robes where they left tiny trails of fire across her back.

Replying in kind, Hermione's hands moved of their own volition – his face, his chest, his hands – using her grip on the latter to guide them to her buttocks, she directed a grunt of pleasure into his mouth as he pulled her closer.

Finally breaking their frenzied tryst, his face a picture of complete joy and utter bewilderment, Harry picked her up and twirled her round on the spot until she was so dizzy she didn't think she would be able to stand without support. "You're staying?"

Hermione shrieked with glee as her fairground ride came to an end. She swayed slightly as she tried to focus her swimming vision on Harry's face. She nodded. "I'm staying."

Harry's joyous expression evaporated. "But what about – "

He didn't even need to finish his question.

As if distorted by a pebble skipping across a still pond, their reflections suddenly shimmered and broke up only to be replaced by another, equally recognisable couple as the ripples dissipated and eventually faded to nothing.

Hermione stepped forwards. As certain as she had been that the mirror had chosen to shown her a future she could only have in this universe, she was equally sure, thought she could not say how, that the mirror was now permitting her one last glimpse of her own universe.

Ensconced in Ron's arms, the other Hermione briefly met her counterpart's eye, glanced up at the redhead as if she couldn't believe her luck, before directing her gaze at her alter self once more.

She inclined her chin slightly. _All right?_ she seemed to ask.

_All right,_ replied Hermione, a Mona-Lisa smile ghosting across her face.

For a moment, the two women, identical in almost every way, shared a knowing look, before the image wavered and then disappearing completely.

"Hermione?"

At the sound of his voice, Hermione twisted towards Harry once more, his arms automatically going around her waist as she moved into his embrace. "She's going to be just fine," and she rose up on tip-toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips.

Far more tender than their first frantic embrace, when they next broke apart, Harry was regarding her with no small amount of puzzlement and she lifted her brows questioningly.

Understanding what her expression signified, Harry drew a deep breath. "Not that I really care," he began, "but _yes_ what? What did the mirror show you that made you want to stay."

Hermione's felt her cheeks warm._ I can't tell him that, can I?_ After all, a few stolen kisses did not a relationship make. She settled on saying: "It's silly."

"It can't be," retorted Harry in all seriousness. "Nothing that brought us together could ever be silly."

"Okay ... " said Hermione. "But I want you to remember I don't expect anything from you." Harry quickly nodded his agreement. "I saw a ring," she admitted. "An engagement ring."

Harry's face paled; immediately Hermione feared she had been too honest. "But remember, I don't expect anything from – "

Harry raised a hand and she stopped talking as if she had been hit by a well aimed tongue-tying curse, his other hand rummaging in one of his robe's inside pockets.

"This ring?" he asked, his fist opening to reveal a dazzling diamond ring resting on his palm.

Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. It was identical to the one in the mirror. "H-how is that possible?"

For a long moment, Harry did not answer. Instead he picked up the delicate band and made a show of inspecting the single jewel which Hermione could tell, even from there, was nearly flawless. "It was my mother's," he said at length. "Sirius gave it to me. Told me that I should give it to the girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with ... " Harry's words trailed away, his eyes still trained on the prisms of light, yet equally somewhere else entirely.

After what seemed like far longer than the handful of seconds she knew it to be objectively, Hermione saw his expression clear, his tongue darting forward the whet his dry lips.

"Hermione." His voice was rough and clogged with emotion, the tears shining in his eyes mirrored in her own the moment he dropped to one knee. "I've feel like I've been waiting my entire life for you and now that you're here I don't want to waste another second." He lifted the ring towards her. "Will you marry me?"

Too overcome by emotion to answer aloud, Hermione could only nod as Harry slid the ring smoothly onto her slender finger. It fit perfectly.

Bounding to his feet, Harry clasped her around the waist, spun her round once and kissed her deeply, their moment only interrupted by an enormous bang as the door flew open and slammed against the stone wall that framed it.

"Ah! Here you two – "

Harry and Hermione, still joined at the lips, twisted towards the familiar voice, Ron's sudden interruption fading to nothing as he regarded first his best friends and then his fiancée in slack jawed amazement.

Rosaline squealed. "It's about time!" and then: "How long?" as her eyes were drawn inexorably to the ring on her sister's finger.

Certain she would burst into flame if she blushed any harder, Hermione, a slight frown knotting her brow as she tried to remember if she had actually locked the door, settled herself back onto her heels and met her sister's delighted gaze.

"About two minutes," she said, stealing a quick glance at her best friend – her fiancé – her earlier theory proving unfounded as she felt her cheeks burn even hotter at the thought.

As quickly as if she had apparated there, Rosaline was suddenly by her side and she pulled her into a one armed hug as the other manhandled her left hand to inspect the ring. "Oh, it's gorgeous, Mimi," she said, her voice so high as to be only audible to dogs. "I'm so happy for you ... for both of you," she concluded before adding in a conspirational whisper: " I want to know everything!"

"Yeah." Ron, who had sauntered over to Harry's side, clapped him firmly on the back.

Hermione smiled as she found she did not feel a twinge of loss that Ron – this one at least – did not seem in the least bit jealous of her newfound status of one half of a couple.

"This calls for a celebration!" declared Rosaline, guiding the group towards the still opened door by virtue of her firm grip of Hermione's hand through the loop of her own arm. "The Three Broomsticks? My treat. Oh," she added as something of an afterthought, "we should call everyone! Get the whole gang together ... "

"Yeah, we should" put in Ron before lowering his voice for Harry's ears only: "Fred and George owe me five galleons each. They bet me that you two would be over thirty before you finally cottoned on."

Harry grinned. "As long as I see a cut of that."

Hermione was beyond the threshold when she pulled her sister to a stop. "The lights!" she exclaimed. "I've got to turn off the lights."

Ron brandished his wand. "I've got – " He paused. "Hey ... Isn't that the Mirror of Erised?" he asked. Perhaps he had been too stunned to notice it before.

Hermione, Rosaline still at her side, pushed back into her office and regarded the mirror, the four of them reflected just as they were in it's pristine surface.

"No," she answered, her eyes now drawn to the script carved around the mirror's frame, it's meaning very different from those of her memories of the ancient device – _Sru oysi erised ou yta htlla_. "It's just an old mirror," she concluded, dousing the lights and pulling the door closed behind them.

The mirror, she knew, had served it purpose.

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><p><strong>FIN<strong>

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><p><em><strong>AN<strong> ~ Feel free to comment on your way out. _


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